BY 

MRS.  MARY  J.,  HOLMES 

Author  of  "  Ttmpest  and  Sunshine"  "  Meadow  Brook?  «  Horn* 

tUad  •*  the  Hillisde"  "  The  English  Orphan*," 

"Maggie  Miller -ctt^  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

HURST    &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS. 


DOEA    DEANE, 

OB, 

THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE. 
CHAPTER  L 

DORA  AND  HEB  MOTHER, 

POOR  little  Dora  Deane  !  How  utterly  wretched 
and  desolate  she  was,  as  she  crouched  before  the 
scanty  fire,  and  tried  to  warm  the  little  bit  of  worn- 
out  flannel,  with  which  to  wrap  her  mother's  feet ; 
and  how  hard  she  tried  to  force  back  the  tears  which 
would  burst  forth  afresh  whenever  she  looked  upon 
that  pale,  sick  mother,  and  thought  how  soon  she 
would  be  gone  ! 

It  was  a  small,  low,  scantily  furnished  room,  high 
up  in  the  third  story  of  a  crazy  old  building,  which 
Dora  called  her  home,  and  its  one  small  window 
looked  out  on  naught  save  the  roofs  and  spires  of  the 
great  city  whose  dull,  monotonous  roar  was  almost 
the  only  sound  to  which  she  had  ever  listened.  01 
the  country,  with  its  bright  green  grass,  its  sweet 
wild  flowers,  its  running  brooks,  and  its  shady  trees, 
she  knew  but  little,  for  only  once  had  she  looked  oa 
all  these  things,  and  then  her  heart  wag  very  sad,  for 

3 


O,4>i- 

o47; 


4  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

f 

the  bright  green  grass  was  hroken,  and  the  sweet 
wild  flowers  were  trampled  down,  that  a  grave  might 
be  made  in  the  dark,  moist  earth  for  her  father,  who 
had  died  in  early  manhood,  leaving  his  wife  and  only 
child  to  battle  with  the  selfish  world  as  best  they 
could.  Since  that  time,  life  had  been  long  and 
dreary  to  the  poor  widow,  whose  hours  were  well- 
nigh  ended,  for  ere  to-morrow's  sun  was  risen,  she 
would  have  a  better  home  than  that  dreary,  cheerless 
room,  while  Dora,  at  the  early  age  of  twelve,  would 
be  an  orphan. 

It  was  a  cold  December  night,  the  last  one  of  the 
year,  and  the  wintry  wind,  which  swept  howling 
past  the  curtainless  window,  seemed  to  take  a  sadder 
tone,  as  if  in  pity  for  the  little  girl  who  knelt  upon 
the  hearthstone,  and  with  the  dim  firelight  flickering 
over  her  tear-stained  face,  prayed  that  she,  too,  might 
die,  and  not  be  left  alone. 

"  It  will  be  so  lonely— so  cold  without  my  mother  I " 
•he  murmured.  "  Oh,  let  me  go  with  her  ;  I  cannot 
live  alone." 

"  Dora,  my  darling,"  came  faintly  from  the  rude 
conch,  and  in  an  instant  the  child  was  at  her  mother's 
fide. 

Winding  her  arms  fondly  about  the  neck  of  her 
daughter,  and  pushing  the  soft  auburn  hair  from  off 
her  fair,  open  brow,  Mrs.  Deane  gazed  long  and 
earnestly  upon  her  face. 

*'  Yes,  you  are  like  me,"  she  said  at  last,  "  and  I 
am  glad  that  it  is  so,  for  it  may  be  Sarah  will  lov« 
you  better  when  she  sees  in  yon  a  look  like  one  who 
once  called  her  sister.  And  should  lid  ever  re- 
turn  " 

She  paused,  while  her  mind  went  back  to  the  years 
long  ago — to  the  old  yellow  farmhouse  among  the 
New  England  bilk— to  the  gray-haired  man,  who 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  f 

had  adopted  her  as  his  own  when  she  was  written 
fatherless — to  the  dark-eyed  girl,  sometimes  kind, 
and  sometimes  overbearing,  whom  she  had  called  her 
sister,  though  there  was  no  tie  of  blood  between 
them.  Then  she  thought  of  the  red  house  just  across 
the  way,  and  of  the  three  brothers,  Nathaniel,  Rich- 
ard, and  John.  Very  softly  she  repeated  the 
name  of  the  latter,  seeming  to  see  him  again  as  he 
was  on  the  day  when,  with  the  wreath  of  white  apple 
blossoms  upon  her  brow,  she  sat  on  the  mossy  bank 
and  listened  to  his  low  spoken  words  of  love.  Again 
she  was  out  in  the  pale  starlight,  and  heard  the 
autumn  wind  go  moaning  through  the  locust  trees 
as  Nathaniel,  the  strange,  eccentric,  woman-hating 
Nathaniel,  but  just  returned  from  the  seas,  told  her 
how  madly  he  had  loved  her,  and  how  the  knowledge 
that  she  belonged  to  another  would  drive  him  from 
his  fatherland  forever — that  in  the  burning  clime  of 
India  he  would  make  gold  his  idol,  forgetting,  if  it 
were  possible,  the  mother  who  had  Dome  him  I 
Then  she  recalled  the  angry  scorn  with  which  her 
adopted  sister  had  received  the  news  of  her  engage- 
ment with  John,  and  how  the  conviction  was  at  last 
forced  upon  her  that  Sarah  herself  had  loved  him  in 
secret,  and  that  in  a  fit  of  desperation  she  had  given 
her  hand  to  the  rather  inefficient  Richard,  ever  after 
treating  her  rival  with  a  cool  reserve,  which  now 
came  back  to  her  with  painful  distinctness. 

"  But  she  will  love  my  little  Dora  for  John's  sake, 
if  not  for  mine/'  she  thought,  at  last ;  and  then,  as 
if  she  had  all  the  time  been  speaking  to  her  daugh- 
ter, she  continued,  "  And  you  must  be  very  dutiful 
to  your  aunt,  and  kind  to  your  cousins,  fulfilling 
their  slightest  wishes." 

Looking  up  quickly,  Dora  asked,  "Have  you 
Written  to  Aunt  Sarah  r  Does  she  say  I  can  come  P  * 


6  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  The  letter  is  written,  and  Mrs.  Gannis  will  send 
it  as  soon  as  I  am  dead/'  answered  Mrs.  Deane.  "  I 
am  sure  she  will  give  you  a  home.  I  told  her  there 
was  no  alternative  but  the  almshouse  ;  then,  after  a 
pause,  she  added  :  "  I  wrote  to  your  uncle  Nathaniel 
some  months  ago,  when  I  knew  that  I  must  die.  It 
is  time  for  his  reply,  but  I  bade  him  direct  to  Sarah, 
as  I  did  not  then  think  to  see  the  winter  snow." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  of  me  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Dora, 
on  whom  the  name  of  Uncle  Nathaniel,  or  "  Uncle 
Nat,"  as  he  was  more  familiarly  called,  produced  a 
more  pleasant  impression  than  did  that  of  her  aunt 
Sarah. 

"  Yes,  answered  the  mother,  "  it  was  of  you  that 
I  wrote,  commending  you  to  his  care,  should  he  return 
to  America.  And  if  you  ever  meet  him,  Dora,  tell 
him  that  on  my  dying  bed  I  thought  of  him  with 
affection — that  my  mind  wandered  back  to  the  years 
of  long  ago,  when  I  was  young,  and  ask  him,  for  the 
sake  of  one  he  called  his  brother,  and  for  her  who 
grieves  that  ever  she  caused  him  a  moment's  pain, 
to  care  for  you,  their  orphan  child." 

Then  followed  many  words  of  love,  which  were 
very  precious  to  Dora  in  the  weary  years  which  fol- 
lowed that  sad  night ;  and  then,  for  a  time,  there 
was  silence  in  that  little  room,  broken  only  by  the 
sound  of  the  wailing  tempest.  The  old  year  was 
going  out  on  the  wings  of  a  fearful  storm,  and  as  the 
driving  sleet  beat  against  the  casement,  while  the 
drifting  snow  found  entrance  through  more  than  one 
wide  crevice  and  fell  upon  her  pillow,  the  dying 
woman  murmured,  "  Lie  up  closer  to  me,  Dora,  I 
am  growing  very  cold." 

Alas !  'twas  the  chill  of  death  ;  but  Dora  did  not 
know  it,  and  again  on  the  hearthstone  before  the  fast 
dviuq  coals  she  knelt,  trying  to  warm  the  bit  of  flan- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  f 

Bel,  on  which  her  burning  tears  fell  like^rain,  whea 
through  the  empty  wood-box  she  sought  in  vain  for 
chip  or  bark  with  which  to  increase  the  scanty  fire. 

"  But  I  will  no*  -V1  ker,"  she  softly  whispered, 
when  satisfied  that  ner  search  was  vain,  and  wrap- 
ping the  flannel  around  the  icy  feet,  she  untied  the 
long-sleeved  apron  which  covered  her  own  naked 
arms,  and  laying  it  over  her  mother's  shoulders, 
tucked  in  the  thin  bedclothes  ;  and  then,  herself  all 
shivering  and  benumbed,  she  sat  down  to  wait  and 
watch,  singing  softly  a  familiar  hymn,  which  had 
sometimes  lulled  her  mother  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

At  last,  as  her  little  round  white  arms  grew  purple 
with  the  cold,  she  moved  nearer  to  the  bedside,  and 
winding  them  lovingly  around  her  mother's  neck, 
laid  her  head  upon  the  pillow  and  fell  asleep.  And 
to  the  angels,  who  were  hovering  near,  waiting  to 
bear  their  sister  spirit  home,  there  was  given  charge 
concerning  the  little  girl,  so  that  she  did  not  freeze, 
though  she  sat  there  the  livelong  night,  calmly  sleep- 
ing the  sweet  sleep  of  childhood,  while  the  mother 
at  her  side  slept  the  long,  eternal  sleep  of  death  1 


CHAPTEB  IL 

THB  FIRST  AND  LAST  NEW  YEAB*8  CALL. 

IT  was  New  Year's  morning,  and  over  the  great 
city  lay  the  deep,  untrodden  snow,  so  soon  to  be 
trampled  down  by  thousands  of  busy  feet.  Cheer- 
ful fires  were  kindled  in  many  a  luxurious  home  of 
the  rich,  and  "  Happy  New  Year"  was  echoed  from 
lip  to  lip,  as  if  on  that  day  there  were  no  aching 
hearts— no  garrets  where  the  biting  cold  looked  in 


8  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

«n  pinching  poverty  and  suffering  old  age — no  low, 
dark  room  where  Dor»  and  her  pale,  dead  mother 
lay,  while  over  them  the  angels  Kept  their  tireless 
watch  till  human  aid  should  come.  But  one  there 
was  who  did  not  forget — one  about  whose  house 
was  gathered  every  elegance  which  fashion  could 
dictate  or  money  procure ;  and  now,  as  she  sat  at 
her  bountifully-furnished  breakfast  table  sipping  her 
fragrant  chocolate,  she  thought  of  the  poor  widow, 
Dora's  mother,  for  whom  her  charity  had  been  so- 
licited the  day  before,  by  a  woman  who  lived  in  the 
same  block  of  buildings  with  Mrs.  Deane. 

"  Brother,"  she  said,  glancing  towards  a  young 
man  who,  before  the  glowing  grate,  was  reading  the 
morning  paper,  "  suppose  you  make  your  first  call 
with  me  ?  * 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered  ;  "  and  it  will  probably 
oe  in  some  dreary  attic  or  dark,  damp  basement ; 
but  it  is  well,  I  suppose,  to  begin  the  New  Year  by 
remembering  the  poor." 

Half  an  hour  later,  and  the  crazy  stairs  which  led 
to  the  chamber  of  death  were  creaking  to  the  tread 
of  the  lady  and  her  brother,  the  latter  of  whom 
knocked  loudly  for  admission.  Keceiving  no  answer 
from  within,  they  at  last  raised  the  latch  and  entered. 
The  fire  had  long  since  gone  out,  and  the  night  wind, 
as  it  poured  down  the  chimney,  had  scattered  the 
cold  ashes  over  the  hearth  and  out  upon  the  floor. 
Piles  of  snow  lay  on  the  window  sill,  and  a  tumbler 
in  which  some  water  had  been  left  standing,  was 
broken  in  pieces.  All  this  the  young  man  saw  at  ft 
glance,  but  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  bed,  he  started 
back,  for  there  was  no  mistaking  the  rigid,  stony 
expression  of  the  upturned  face,  which  lay  there  so 
white  and  motionless. 

"  Bat  the  child— the  child,"  he  exclaimed,  advano- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  9 

fng  forward — "  can  she,  too,  be  dead  I "  and  he  laid 

his  warm  hand  gently  on  Dora's  brow. 

The  touch  aroused  her,  and  starting  up,  she  looked 
around  for  a  moment  bewildered  ;  but  when  at  last 
she  turned  towards  her  mother,  the  dread  reality 
was  forced  upon  her,  and  in  bitter  tones  she  cried, 
"  Mother's  dead,  mother's  dead,  and  I  am  all  alone  t 
Oh  !  mother,  mother,  come  back  again  to  me  1" 

The  young  man's  heart  was  touched,  and  taking 
the  child's  little  red  hands  in  his,  he  rubbed  them 
gently,  trying  to  soothe  her  grief ;  while  his  sister, 
summoning  the  inmates  from  the  adjoining  room, 
gave  orders  that  the  body  should  receive  the  neces- 
sary attention ;  then,  learning  as  much  as  was  pos- 
sible of  Dora's  history,  and  assuring  her  that  she 
should  be  provided  for  until  her  aunt  came,  she  went 
away,  promising  to  return  next  morning  and  be  pres- 
ent at  the  humble  funeral. 

That  evening,  as  Dora  sat  weeping  by  the  coffin  in 
which  her  mother  lay,  a  beautiful  young  girl,  with 
eyes  of  deepest  blue,  and  locks  of  golden  hair,  smiled 
a  joyous  welcome  to  him  whose  first  New  Year's  call 
had  been  in  the  chamber  of  death,  and  whose  last 
was  to  her,  the  petted  child  of  fashion. 

"  I  had  almost  given  you  up,  and  was  just  going 
to  cry,"  she  said,  laying  her  little  snownake  of  a 
hand  upon  the  one  which  that  morning  had  chafed 
the  small,  stiff  fingers  of  Dora  Deane,  and  which  now 
tenderly  pressed  those  of  Ella  Grey  as  the  young 
man  answered,  "  I  have  not  felt  like  going  out  to- 
day, for  my  first  call  saddened  me ; "  and  then,  with 
his  arm  around  the  fairy  form  of  Ella,  his  affianced 
bride,  he  told  her  of  the  cold,  dreary  room,  of  the 
mother  colder  still,  and  of  the  noble  little  girl,  who 
had  divested  herself  of  her  own  clothing,  that  her 
mother  might  be  warm. 


IO  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Ella  Grey  had  heard  of  such  scenes  before — had 
cried  over  them  in  books ;  but  the  idea  that  she 
could  do  anything  to  relieve  the  poor,  had  never  en- 
tered her  mind.  It  is  true,  she  had  once  given-a 
party  dress  to  a  starving  woman,  and  a  pound  of 
candy  to  a  ragged  boy  who  had  asked  for  aid,  but 
here  her  charity  ended ;  so,  though  she  seemed  to 
listen  with  interest  to  the  sad  story,  her  mind  was 
wandering  elsewhere,  and  when  her  companion 
ceased,  she  merely  said,  "  Romantic,  wasn't  it. " 

There  was  a  look  of  disappointment  on  the  young 
man's  face,  which  was  quickly  observed  by  Ella, 
who  attributed  it  to  its  right  source,  and  hastened  to 
ask  numberless  questions  about  Dora — "How  old 
was  she  ?  Did  he  think  her  pretty,  and  hadn't  she 
better  go  to  the  funeral  the  next  day  and  bring  her 
home  for  a  waiting-maid  ? — she  wanted  one  sadly, 
and  from  the  description,  the  orphan  girl  would 
just  suit." 

"  No,  Ella,'*  answered  her  lover ;  "  the  child  is 
going  to  live  in  the  country  with  some  relatives,  and 
will  be  much  better  off  there." 

"  The  country,"  repeated  Ella.  "  /  would  rather 
freeze  in  New  York  than  to  live  in  the  dismal 
country." 

Again  the  shadow  came  over  the  gentleman's  brow, 
as  he  said,  "Do  you  indeed  object  so  much  to  a 
home  in  the  country  ?  " 

Ella  knew  just  wnat  he  wanted  her  to  say  ;  so  she 
answered,  "  Oh,  no,  I  can  be  happy  anywhere  with 
you,  but  do  please  let  me  spend  just  one  winter  in 
the  city  after " 

Here  she  paused,  while  the  bright  blushes  broke 
over  her  childish  face.  She  could  not  say,  even  to 
torn,  "  after  we  are  married,"  so  he  said  it  for  her, 
drawing  her  closer  to  his  side,  and  forgetting  Dora 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  II 

Deane,  as  he  painted  the  joyous  future  when  Ella 
would  be  all  his  own.  Eleven  o'clock  sounded  from 
more  than  one  high  tower,  and  at  each  stroke  poor 
Dora  Deane  moaned  in  anguish,  thinking  to  herself, 
"  Last  night  at  this  time  she  was  here."  Eleven 
o'clock,  said  Ella  Grey's  diamond  set  watch,  and 
pushing  back  her  wavy  hair,  the  young  man  kissed 
her  rosy  cheek,  and  bade  her  a  fond  good-night.  As 
lie  reached  the  door,  she  called  him  back,  while  she 
asked  him  the  name  of  the  little  girl  who  had  so 
excited  his  sympathy. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered.  "  Strange  that 
I  forgot  to  inquire.  But  no  matter.  We  shall  never 
meet  again  ; "  and  feeling  sure  that  what  he  said  was 
true  he  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

DORA'S  RELATIVES. 

THERE  hundred  miles  to  the  westward,  and  the 
storm,  which,  on  New  Year's  eve,  swept  so  furiously 
over  all  parts  of  the  State,  was  perceptible  only  in 
the  dull,  gray  clouds  which  obscured  the  wintry  sky, 
shutting  out  the  glimmering  starlight,  and  apparently 
making  still  brighter  the  many  cheerful  lights  which 
shone  forth  from  the  handsome  dwellings  in  the 
village  of  Dunwood.  Still  the  night  was  intensely 
cold,  and,  as  Mrs.  Sarah  Deane,  in  accordance  with 
her  daughter  Eugenia's  request,  added  a  fresh  bit  of 
coal  to  the  already  well-filled  stove,  she  sighed  in- 
voluntarily, wishing  the  weather  would  abate,  for  the 
winter's  store  of  fuel  was  already  half  gone,  and  the 
contents  of  her  parse  were  far  too  scanty  to  meet 


ta  DORA  DEANB,  OR, 

the  necessity  of  her  household,  and  at  the  same  time 
minister  to  the  wants  of  her  extravagant  daughters. 

"  Bat  I  can  economize  in  one  way,"  she  said,  half 
alond,  and  crossing  the  room  she  turned  down  the 
astral  lamp  which  was  burning  brightly  upon  the 
table. 

"  Don't,  pray  mother,  make  it  darker  than  a  dun- 
geon 1 "  petulantly  exclaimed  Eugenia,  herself  turn- 
ing back  the  lamp.  "  I  do  like  to  have  rooms  light 
enough  to  see  one's  self  ; "  and  glancing  complacently 
at  the  reflection  of  her  handsome  face,  in  the  mirror 
opposite,  she  resumed  her  former  lounging  attitude 
upon  the  sofa. 

Mrs.  Deane  sighed  again,  but  she  had  long  since 
ceased  to  oppose  the  imperious  Eugenia,  who  was  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  who  oftentimes  led  her  mother  and  weaker- 
minded  sister  into  the  commission  of  acts  from  which 
they  would  otherwise  have  shrunk.  Possessed  of  a 
large  share  of  romance,  Eugenia  had  given  to  their 

B'ace  the  name  of  *'  Locust  Groove ; "  and  as  Mrs. 
eane  managed  to  keep  up  a  kind  of  outside  show 
by  practising  the  most  pinching  economy  in  every- 
thing pertaining  to  the  actual  comfort  of  ner  family, 
they  were  looked  upon  as  being  quite  wealthy  and 
aristocratic  by  those  who  saw  nothing  of  their  inner 
life — who  knew  nothing  of  the  many  shifts  and  turns 
in  the  kitchen  to  save  money  for  the  decoration  of 
the  parlors,  or  of  the  frequent  meager  meals  eaten 
from  the  pantry  shelf,  in  order  to  make  amends  for  the 
numerous  dinner  and  evening  parties  which  Eugenia 
and  Alice  insisted  upon  giving,  and  which  their 
frequent  visits  to  their  friends  rendered  necessary. 
Extensive  servant-hire  was  of  course  too  expensive, 
and,  as  both  Eugenia  and  Alice  affected  the  utmost 
oont  tuipt  for  anything  like  workt  their  mother  toiled 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  IJ 

in  the  kitchen  from  morning  until  night,  assisted 
only  by  a  young  girl,  whose  mother  constantly  threat* 
ened  to  take  her  away,  unless  her  wages  were  in- 
creased, a  thing  which  seemed  impossible. 

It  was  jnst  after  this  woman's  weekly  visit,  and  in 
the  midst  of  preparations  for  a  large  dinner  party, 
that  Mrs.  Deane  received  her  sister's  letter,  to  which 
there  was  added  a  postscript,  in  a  strange  hand- 
writing, saying  she  was  dead.  There  was  a  moisture 
m  Mrs.  Deane's  eyes  as  she  read  the  touching  lines  : 
and  leaning  her  heated  forehead  against  the  cool 
window  pane,  she,  too,  thought  of  the  years  gone  by 
— of  the  gentle  girl,  the  companion  of  her  child- 
hood, who  had  never  given  her  an  unkind  word— of 
him — the  only  man  she  had  ever  loved — and  Dora 
was  their  child — Fanny's  child  and  John's. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  half  aloud,  "  I  will  give  her  a 
home,"  but  anon  there  came  stealing  over  her  the 
old  bitterness  of  feeling,  which  she  had  cherished 
since  she  knew  that  Fanny  was  preferred  to  herself, 
and  then  the  evil  of  her  nature  whispered,  "  No,  I 
will  not  receive  their  child.  We  can  hardly  manage 
to  live  now,  and  it  is  not  my  duty  to  incur  an  ad- 
ditional expense.  Dora  must  stay  where  she  is,  and 
if  I  do  not  answer  the  letter,  she  will  naturally  sup- 
pose I  never  received  it." 

Thus  deciding  the  matter,  she  crushed  the  letter 
into  her  pocket  and  went  back  to  her  work ;  bat 
there  was  an  added  weight  upon  her  spirits,  white 
continually  ringing  in  her  ears  were  the  words, "  Care 
for  John's  child  and  mine."  "  If  I  could  only  make 
her  of  any  use  to  me,"  she  said  at  last,  and  then  as 
her  eye  fell  upon  Bridget,  whose  stay  with  her  was 
BO  uncertain,  the  dark  thought  entered  her  mind, 
"  Why  could  not  Dora  fill  her  place  P  It  would  l» 


14  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

A  great  saving,  and  of  course  the  child  must  expect 
to  work." 

Still,  reason  as  she  would,  Mrs.  Deane  could  not 
at  once  bring  herself  to  the  point  of  making  a  menial 
of  one  who  was  every  way  her  equal ;  neither  could 
she  decide  to  pass  the  letter  by  unnoticed  ;  so  for  the 
present  she  strove  to  dismiss  the  subject,  which  was 
not  broached  to  her  daughters  until  the  evening 
on  which  we  first  introduced  them  to  our  readers. 
Then  taking  her  seat  by  the  brightly  burning  lamp, 
she  drew  the  letter  from  her  pocket  and  read  it 
aloud,  while  Alice  drummed  an  occasional  note  upon 
the  piano  and  Eugenia  beat  a  tattoo  upon  the  carpet 
with  her  delicate  French  slipper.  . 

"  Of  course  she  won't  come/'  said  Alice,  as  her 
mother  finished  reading.  "  It  was  preposterous  in 
Aunt  Fanny  to  propose  such  a  thing  1 "  and  she 
glanced  towards  Eugenia  for  approbation  of  what 
she  had  said. 

Eugenia's  quick,  active  mind  had  already  looked 
at  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings,  and  in  like  manner 
with  her  mother  she  saw  how  Dora's  presence  there 
would  be  a  benefit ;  so  to  Alice's  remark  she  replied : 
"  It  will  sound  well  for  us  to  have  a  cousin  in  the 
poorJiouse,  won't  it  ?  For  my  part,  I  propose  that 
she  comes,  and  then  be  made  to  earn  her  own  living. 
We  can  dismiss  Bridget,  who  is  only  two  years  older 
than  Dora,  and  we  shall  thus  avoid  quarreling  reg- 
nlarly  with  her  vixenish  mother,  besides  saving  a 
iollar  every  week " 

"  So  make  a  drudge  of  Dora,"  interrupted  Alice. 
"  Better  leave  her  in  the  poorhouse  at  once." 

"  Nobody  intends  to  make  a  drudge  of  her,"  re- 
torted Eugenia.  "Mother  works  in  the  kitchen, 
and  I  wonder  if  it  will  hurt  Dora  to  help  her  Every 
girl  ought  to  learn  to  work  \ " 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  1% 

"  Except  Eugenia  Deane,"  suggested  Alice,  laugh« 
ing,  to  think  how  little  her  sister's  practise  accorded 
with  her  theory. 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation,  Bridget  entered, 
bringing  a  letter  which  bore  the  India  post-mark, 
together  with  the  unmistakable  handwriting  of  Na- 
thaniel Deane  1 

"  A  letter  from  Uncle  "Nat,  as  I  live  I "  exclaimed 
Eugenia.  "  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  He  hasn't 
written  before  in  years.  I  do  wish  I  knew  when  he 
expected  to  quit  this  mundane  sphere,  and  how  much 
of  his  money  he  intends  leaving  me  1 " 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Deane  had  broken  the  seal,  ut- 
tering an  exclamation  of  surprise  as  a  check  for  $500 
fell  into  her  lap. 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  screamed  Eugenia, 
catching  up  the  check  and  examining  it  closely,  to 
see  that  there  was  no  mistake.  "  The  old  miser  has 
really  opened  his  heart.  Now,  we'll  have  some 
genuine  silver  forks  for  our  best  company,  so  we 
shan't  be  in  constant  terror  lest  some  one  should  dis- 
cover that  they  are  only  plated.  I'll  buy  that  set  of 
vearls  at  Mercer's,  too,  and,  Alice,  you  and  I  will 
nave  some  new  furs.  I'd  go  to  Rochester  to-morrow, 
if  it  were  not  Sunday.  What  shall  we  get  for  you, 
mother  ?  A  web  of  cloth,  or  an  ounce  of  sewing 
silk  ? "  and  the  heartless  girl  turned  towards  her 
mother,  whose  face  was  white  as  ashes,  as  she  said 
faintly :  "  The  money  is  not  ours.  It  is  Dora's— 
to  be  used  for  her  benefit." 

"  Not  ours  !  What  do  you  mean  I  It  can't  be 
true  I"  cried  Eugenia,  snatching  the  letter,  and 
reading  therein  a  confirmation  of  her  mother's  words. 

After  a  slight  apology  for  his  long  silence,  TJncle 
Nat  had  spoken  of  Fanny's  letter,  saying  he  supposed 
•be  most  be  dead  ere  this,  and  that  Dora  was  prob- 


16  DORA  DEAKB,  OR, 

ably  living  with  her  aunt,  as  it  was  quite  natural  she 
should  do.  Then  he  expressed  his  willingness  to  de- 
fray all  the  expense  which  she  might  be,  adding  that 
though  he  should  never  see  her,  as  he  was  resolved  to 
spend  his  days  in  India,  he  still  wished  to  think  of 
her  as  an  educated  and  accomplished  woman. 

"  Accompanying  this  letter,  he  wrote,  "  is  a  check 
for  $500,  to  be  used  for  Dora's  beneh't.  Next  year  I 
will  make  another  remittance,  increasing  the  allov- 
emce  as  she  grows  older.  I  have  more  money  than  I 
need,  and  I  know  of  no  one  on  whom  I  would  sooner 
expend  it  than  the  child  of  Fanny  Moore." 

"  Spiteful  old  fool  I "  muttered  Eugenia,  "  I  could 
relieve  him  of  any  superfluous  dimes  he  may  possess." 

But  even  Eugenia,  heartless  as  she  was,  felt  hum- 
bled and  subdued  for  a  moment,  as  she  read  the  lat- 
ter part  of  her  uncle's  letter,  from  which  we  give  the 
following  extract : 

"  I  am  thinking,  to-day,  of  the  past,  Sarah,  and  I 
grow  a  very  child  again  as  I  recall  the  dreary  years 
which  have  gone  over  my  head,  since  last  I  trod  the 
shores  of  my  fatherland.  You,  Sarah,  know  much 
of  my^  history.  You  know  that  I  was  awkward,  ec- 
centric, nncouth,  and  many  years  older  than  my 
handsomer,  more  highly  gifted  brother;  and  yet 
with  all  this  fearful  odds  against  me,  you  know  that 
I  ventured  to  love  the  gentle,  fair-haired  Fanny,  your 
adopted  sister.  Yon  know  this,  I  say,  but  you  do 
not  Know  how  madly,  how  passionately  such  as  I  can 
love—did  love ;  nor  how  the  memory  of  Fanny's 
ringing  laugh,  and  the  thought  of  the  sunny  smile, 
with  which  I  knew  she  would  welcome  me  home 
again,  cheered  me  on  my  homeward  voyage,  when  in 
the  long  night-watches  I  paced  the  vessel's  deck, 
while  tne  stars  looked  coldly  down  upon  me,  and 
there  was  no  sound  to  break  the  deep  stillneaa,  save 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  If 

the  heavy  swell  of  the  sea.  At  the  village  inn  where 
I  stopped  for  a  moment  ere  going  to  my  father's 
house,  I  first  heard  that  her  hand  was  plighted  to  an- 
other, and  in  my  wild  frenzy,  I  swore  that  my  rival, 
whoever  it  might  be,  should  die  ! 

"  It  was  my  youngest  brother — he,  who,  on  the 
sad  night  when  our  mother  died,  had  laid  his  baby 
head  upon  my  bosom,  and  wept  himself  to  sleep — he 
whose  infant  steps  I  had  guided,  bearing  him  often 
in  my  arms,  lest  he  should  '  dash  his  foot  against  a 
stone.'  And  his  life  I  had  sworn  to  take,  for  had  he 
not  come  between  me  and  the  only  object  I  had  ever 
loved  ?  There  was  no  one  stirring  about  the  house, 
for  it  was  night,  and  the  family  had  retired.  But 
the  door  was  unfastened,  and  I  knew  the  way  up- 
stairs-. I  found  him,  as  I  had  expected,  in  our  old 
room,  and  all  alone  ;  for  Richard  was  away.  Had 
he  been  there,  it  should  make  no  difference,  I  said, 
but  he  was  absent,  and  John  was  calmly  sleeping  with 
his  face  upturned  to  the  soft  moonlight  which  came 
in  through  the  open  window.  I  had  not  seen  him 
for  two  long  years,  and  now  there  was  about  him  a 
look  so  much  like  that  of  my  dead  mother  when  she 
lay  in  her  coffin  bed,  that  the  demon  in  my  heart 
was  softened,  and  I  seemed  to  hear  her  dying  words 
again,  '  I  can  trust  you,  Nathaniel ;  and  to  your  pro- 
tection, as  to  a  second  mother,  I  commit  my  little 
boy.' 

"The  little  boy,  whose  curls  were  golden  then, 
was  now  a  brown-haired  man — my  brother — the  son 
of  my  angel  mother,  whose  spirit,  in  that  dark  hour 
of  my  temptation,  glided  into  the  silent  room,  and 
stood  between  me  and  her  youngest  born,  so  that  ho 
was  not  harmed,  and  /  was  saved  from  the  curse  of  a 
brother's  blood. 

" '  Lead  as  not  into  temptation/  came  back  to  me, 


1 8  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

just  as  I  liad  said  it  kneeling  at  my  mother's  side ; 
and  covering  my  face  with  my  hands,  I  thanked  God, 
who  had  kept  me  from  so  great  a  sin.  Bending  low, 
I  whispered  in  his  ear  his  name,  and  in  a  moment  hia 
arms  were  around  my  neck,  while  he  welcomed  me 
back  to  the  home,  which,  he  said,  was  not  home 
without  me.  And  then,  when  the  moon  had  gone 
down,  and  the  stars  shone  too  faintly  to  reveal  his 
blushes,  he  told  me  the  story  of  his  happiness,  to 
which  I  listened,  while  the  great  drops  of  sweat  rolled 
down  my  face  and  moistened  the  pillow  on  which  my 
head  was  resting. 

"  But  why  linger  over  those  days  of  anguish,  which 
made  me  an  old  man  before  my  time  ?  I  knew  I 
could  not  stand  by  and  see  her  wedded  to  another— 
neither  could  I  look  upon  her  after  she  was  another's 
wife ;  so,  one  night,  when  the  autumn  days  were 
come,  I  asked  her  to  go  with  me  out  beneath  the 
locust  trees,  which  skirted  my  father's  yard.  It  was 
there  I  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was 
there  I  would  take  my  final  leave.  Of  the  particulars 
of  that  interview  I  remember  but  little,  for  I  was 
terribly  excited.  We  never  met  again,  for  ere  the 
morrow's  daylight  dawned,  I  had  left  my  home  for- 
ever  " 

Then  followed  a  few  more  words  concerning  Dora, 
with  a  request  that  she  should  write  to  him,  as  he 
would  thus  be  able  to  judge  something  of  her  char- 
acter ;  and  there  the  letter  ended. 

For  a  time  there  was  silence,  which  was  broken  at 
last  by  Eugenia,  whose  active  mind  had  already  come 
to  a  decision.  Dora  would  live  with  them,  of  course- 
it  was  best  that  she  should,  and  there  was  no  longer 
need  for  dismissing  Bridget.  The  five  hundred  dol- 
lars obviated  that  necessity,  and  it  was  theirs,  too— - 
theirs  by  wa,v  of  remuneration  for  giving  Dora  a 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  19 

home — theirs  to  spend  as  they  pleased.  And  she  still 
intended  to  have  the  furs,  the  pearls,  and  the  silver 
forks,  just  the  same  as  though  the  money  had  been 
a  special  gift  to  her  ! 

"  Suppose  Uncle  Nat  should  happen,  to  <;om0 
home,  and  Dora  should  tell  him  ?  "  suggested  Alice, 
who  did  not  so  readily  fall  iii  with  her  sister's  views. 

"He'll  never  do  that  in  the  world,"  returned 
Eugenia.  "  And  even  if  he  should,  Dora  will  have 
nothing  to  tell,  for  she  is  not  supposed  to  know  of  the 
money.  If  we  feed,  clothe,  and  educate  her,  it  is  all 
we  are  required  to  do." 

"  But  would  that  be  exactly  just  ?  "  faintly  inter- 
posed Mrs.  Deane,  whose  perceptions  of  right  and 
wrong  were  not  quite  so  blunted  as  those  of  her 
daughter,  who,  in  answer  to  her  question,  proceeded 
to  advance  many  good  reasons  why  Dora,  for  a  time 
at  least,  should  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that 
her  uncle  supported  her,  and  not  her  aunt. 

"  We  can  manage  her  better  if  she  thinks  she  is 
dependent  upon  us.  And  then,  as  she  grows  older, 
she  will  not  be  continually  asking  what  has  become 
of  the  money,  which,  as  I  understand  the  matter, 
is  really  ours,  and  not  hers." 

Still,  Mrs.  Deane  was  not  quite  convinced,  but 
«he  knew  how  useless  it  would  be  to  argue  the  point ; 
BO  she  said  nothing,  except  to  ask  how  Dora  was  to 
get  there,  as  she  could  not  come  alone. 

"  I  have  it,"  answered  Eugenia.  <e  I  have  long 
wished  to  spend  a  few  days  in  New  York,  but  that 
bane  of  my  life,  poverty,  has  always  prevented.  Now, 
however,  as  old  Uncle  Nat  has  kindly  furnished  ns 
with  the  means,  I  propose  that  Alice  and  I  start  day 
after  to-morrow,  and  return  on  Saturday.  That  will 
give  as  ample  time  to  see  the  lions  and  get  the  city 

jf       i   •  »»  * 

fashions. 


SO  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  It  -will  cost  a  great  deal  for  you  both  to  stay  at 
those  large  hotels,"  said  Mrs.  Deane  j  and  Eugenia 
replied — 

"  One  hundred  dollars  will  cover  all  the  expense, 
and  pay  Dora's  fare  besides.  What  is  the  use  of 
money,  if  we  can't  use  it  ?  I  shall  get  my  fnrs,  and 
jewelry,  and  forks  while  I'm  there,  so  I'd  better  take 
along  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  for  fear  of  any 
accident.  We  are  not  obliged  to  spend  it  all,  of 
cc  arse  ; "  she  added,  as  she  saw  the  look  of  dismay 
Oil  her  mother's  face.  "And  we  can  bring  back 
whatever  there  is  left." 

For  nineteen  years  Eugenia  Deane  had  been  suf- 
fered to  have  her  way,  and  her  mother  did  not  like 
to  thwart  her  now,  for  her  temper  was  violent,  and 
she  dreaded  an  outbreak  ;  so  she  merely  sighed  in 
reply,  and  when,  on  Monday  morning,  Eugenia 
started  for  New  York,  her  purse  contained  the  de- 
sired three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  which,  after 
her  arrival  in  the  city,  was  spent  as  freely  as  if  it 
really  belonged  to  her,  and  not  to  the  orphan  Dora, 
who  was  now  staying  with  Mrs.  Grannis,  a  kind- 
hearted  woman  in  the  same  block  where  her  mother 
had  died.  The  furs  were  bought,  the  pearls  examined, 
the  forks  priced,  and  then  Alice  ventured  to  ask  when 
they  were  going  to  find  Dora. 

"  I  shall  leave  that  for  the  last  thing,"  answered 
Eugenia.  "  She  can't  run  away,  and  nobody  wants 
to  be  bothered  with  a  child  to  look  after/' 

So  for  three  more  days  little  Dora  looked  ont  of 
the  dingy  window  npon  the  dirty  court  below,  wish- 
ing her  aunt  would  come,  and  wondering  if  she  should 
like  her.  At  last,  towards  the  close  of  Friday  after- 
noon, there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  haughty- 
looking,  elegantly  dressed  young  lady  inspired  if  • 
little  orphan  girl  lived  there. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  31 

''That's  her — Aunt  Sarah,"  exclaimed  Dora,  spring"- 
ing  joyfully  forward  ;  but  she  paused  and  started 
back,  as  she  met  the  cold,  scrutinizing  glance  ol 
Eugenia's  large  black  eyes. 

"  Are  you  the  child  I  am  looking  for  ? "  asked 
Eugenia,  without  deigning  to  notice  Mrs.  Grannis's 
request  that  she  would  walk  in. 

"  I  am  Dora  Deane,"  was  the  simple  answer ;  and 
then,  as  briefly  as  possible,  Eugenia  explained  that 
she  had  been  sent  for  her,  and  that  early  the  next 
morning  she  would  call  to  take  her  to  the  depot. 

"  Did  you  know  mother  ?  Are  you  any  relation  ?  " 
asked  Dora,  trembling  with  eager  expectation  ;  and 
Alice,  who,  without  her  sister's  influence,  would  have 
been  a  comparatively  kind-hearted  girl,  answered 
softly,  "  We  are  your  cousins." 

There  was  much  native  politeness  and  natural  re 
finement  of  manner  about  Dora,  and  instinctively  her 
little  chubby  hand  was  extended  towards  her  newly 
found  relative,  who  pressed  it  gently,  glancing  the 
while  at  her  sister,  who,  without  one  word  of  sym- 
pathy for  the  orphan  girl,  walked  away  through  the 
winding  passage,  and  down  the  narrow  stairs,  out 
into  the  sunlight,  where,  breathing  more  freely,  she 
exclaimed,  "  What  a  horrid  place  1  I  hope  I  haven't 
caught  anything.  Didn't  Dora  look  like  a  Dutch  doll 
in  that  long  dress  and  high-neck  apron  ?  " 

"Her  face  is  pretty,  though,  returned  Alice, 
"  and  her  eyes  are  beautiful — neither  blue  nor  black, 
but  a  mixture  of  both.  How  I  pitied  her  as  they  filled 
with  tears  when  you  were  talking  I  Why  didn't  you 
speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  Because  I'd  nothing  to  say,"  answered  Eugenia, 
stepping  into  the  carriage  which  had  brought  them 
there,  and  ordering  the  driver  to  go  next  to  Stuart's, 
where  she  wished  to  look  again  at  a  velvet  cloak* 


22  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  It  is  so  cheap,  and  so    becoming,  too,  that  I  am 

half  tempted  to  get  it,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Mother  won't  like  it,  I  knoAv,"  said  Alice,  who 
herself  began  to  have  some  fears  for  the  three  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars. 

" Fudge!"  returned  Eugenia,  adding  the  next 
moment,  "  I  wonder  if  she'll  have  to  buy  clothes  for 
Dora  the  first  thing.  I  hope  not,"  and  she  drew 
around  her  the  costly  fur,  for  which  she  had  paid 
fifty  dollars. , 

Of  course  the  cloak  was  bought,  together  with 
several  other  articles  equally  cheap  and  becoming, 
and  by  the  time  the  hotel  bills  were  paid,  there  were 
found  in  the  purse  just  twenty-five  dollars, with  which 
to  pay  their  expenses  back  to  Dunwood. 


There  were  bitter  tears  shed  at  the  parting  next 
morning  in  Mrs.  Grannis's  humble  room,  for  Dora 
felt  that  the  friends  to  whom  she  was  going  were 
not  like  those  she  left  behind  ;  and  very  lovingly  her 
arms  wound  themselves  around  the  poor  widow's  neck 
as  she  wept  her  last  adieu,  begging  Mrs.  Grannis  not 
to  forget  her,  but  to  write  sometimes,  and  tell  her  of 
the  lady  who  had  so  kindly  befriended  her. 

"  "We  can't  wait  any  longer/'  cried  Eugenia,  and 
with  one  more  farewell  kiss,  Dora  went  out  of  the 
house  where  she  had  experienced  much  of  happiness, 
and  where  had  come  to  her  her  deepest  grief. 

"  Forlorn.  What  is  that  old  thing  going  for  t 
Leave  it,"  said  Eugenia,  touching  with  her  foot  a 
square,  green  trunk  or  chest,  which  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  long,  sack-like  carpet-bag  containing  Dora'i 
wardrobe. 

"It  was  father's — and  mother's  clothes  are  in  it»* 
answered  Dora,  with  quivering  lips. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  9\ 

There  was  something  in  the  words  and  manner  of 
the  little  girl,  as  she  laid  her  hand  reverently  on  the 
offending  trunk,  that  touched  even  Eugenia  ;  and 
she  said  no  more.  An  hour  later,  and  the  attention 
of  more  than  one  passenger  in  the  Hudson  River 
cars  was  attracted  towards  the  two  stylish-looking 
ladies  who  came  in,  laden  with  bundles,  and  followed 
by  a  little  girl  in  black,  for  whom  no  seat  was  found 
save  the  one  by  the  door  where  the  wind  crept  in, 
and  the  tmmelted  frost  still  covered  the  window 
pane. 

"  Won't  you  be  cold  here  ?  "  asked  Alice,  stopping 
a  moment,  ere  passing  on  to  her  own  warm  seat  near 
the  stove. 

"  No  matter  ;  I  am  used  to  it,"  was  Dora's  meek 
reply  ;  and  wrapping  her  thin,  half-worn  shawl  closer 
about  her,  and  drawing  her  feet  up  beneath  her,  she 
soon  fell  asleep,  dreaming  sweet  dreams  of  the  home 
to  which  she  was  going,  and  of  the  Aunt  Sarah  who 
would  be  to  her  a  second  mother  I 

God  help  fhee,  Dora  Deane  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DOHA'S  NEW  HOME. 

ONE  year  has  passed  away  since  the  night  when, 
cold,  weary  and  forlorn,  Dora  followed  her  cousins 
up  the  graveled  walk  which  led  to  her  new  home. 
One  whole  year,  and  in  that  time  she  has  somewhat 
changed.  The  merry-hearted  girl,  who,  until  a  few 
weeks  before  her  mother's  death,  was  happier  far 
than  many  a  favored  child  of  wealth,  has  become  a 


§4  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

iober,  quiet,  self-reliant  child,  performing  without 
a  word  of  complaint  the  many  duties  which  have 
graually  been  imposed  upon  her. 

From  her  aunt  she  had  received  a  comparatively 
welcome  greeting,  and  when  Eugenia  displayed  her 
purchases,  which  had  swallowed  up  the  entire  three 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  Mrs.  Deane  had  laid  her 
hand  on  the  little  girl's  soft,  auburn  hair,  as  if  to 
ask  forgiveness  for  the  injustice  done  her  by  the 
selfish  Eugenia,  whose  only  excuse  for  her  extrava- 
gance was,  that  "  no  one  in  her  right  mind  need  to 
think  of  bringing  back  any  money  from  New  York." 
And  Dora,  from  her  seat  on  a  little  stool  behind  the 
stove,  understood  nothing,  thought  of  nothing,  except 
that  Eugenia  looked  beautifully  in  her  velvet  cloak 
and  furs,  and  that  her  aunt  must  be  very  rich,  to 
afford  so  many  handsome  articles  of  furniture  as  the 
parlor  contained. 

"  And  I  am  glad  that  she  is/'  she  thought,  "  for 
she  will  not  be  so  likely  to  think  me  in  the  way." 

As  time  passed  on,  however,  Dora,  who  was  a 
close  observer,  began  to  see  things  in  their  true 
light,  and  her  life  was  far  from  being  happy.  By 
her  cousin  Alice  she  was  treated  with  a  tolerable 
degree  of  kindness,  while  Eugenia,  without  any 
really  evil  intention,  perhaps,  seemed  to  take  delight 
in  annoying  her  sensitive  cousin,  constantly  taunting 
her  with  her  dependence  upon  them,  and  asking  her 
Bometimes  how  she  expected  to  repay  the  debt  of 
gratitude  she  owed  them.  Many  and  many  a  night 
had  the  orphan  wept  herself  to  sleep,  in  the  low, 
ecantily  furnished  chamber  which  had  been  assigned 
her  ;  and  she  was  glad  when  at  last  an  opportunity 
was  presented  for  her  to  be  in  a  measure  out  of 
Eugenia's  way,  and  at  the  same  time  feel  that  she 
was  doing  something  towards  earning  her  living. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  2§ 

The  oft-repeated  threat  of  Bridget's  mother  that 
her  daughter  should  be  removed,  unless  her  wages 
were  increased,  was  finally  carried  into  effect :  and 
one  Saturday  night,  Mrs.  Deane  was  startled  by  the 
announcement  that  Bridget  was  going  to  leave.  In 
a  moment,  Dora's  resolution  wSs  taken,  and  coming 
to  her  aunt's  side,  she  said  : 

"  Don't  hire  another  girl,  Aunt  Sarah.  Let  m6 
help  you.  I  can  do  -almost  as  much  as  Bridget,  and 
yon  won't  have  to  pay  me  either.  I  shall  only  be 
paying  you." 

Unclasping  the  handsome  bracelet  which  had  been 
purchased  with  a  portion  of  the  remaining  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars,  Eugenia,  ere  her  mother  hacj 
time  to  reply,  exclaimed  : 

"  That  is  a  capital  idea  !  I  wonder  how  you 
happened  to  be  so  thoughtful." 

And  so  it  was  decided  that  Dora  should  take 
Bridget's  place,  she  thinking  how  much  she  would 
do,  and  how  hard  she  would  try  to  please  her  aunt, 
who  quieted  her  own  conscience  by  saying  "  it  was 
only  a  temporary  arrangement  until  she  could  find 
another  servant. " 

But  as  the  days  went  by,  the  temporary  arrange- 
ment bid  fair  to  become  permanent,  for  Mrs.  Deane 
could  not  be  insensible  to  the  vast  difference  which 
Bridget's  absence  made  in  her  weekly  expenses. 
Then,  too,  Dora  was  so  willing  to  work,  and  so  un- 
complaining, never  seeking  a  word  of  commendation, 
except  once,  indeed,  when  she  timidly  ventured  to 
ask  Eugenia  if  ' '  what  she  did  was  enough  to  pay  for 
her  board  ?  " 

"  Just'  about,"  was  Eugenia's  answer,  which,  in- 
different as  it  was,  cheered  the  heart  of  Dora,  as,  day 
after  day,  she  toiled  on  in  the  comfortless  kitchen, 
until  her  bauds,  which,  when  she  came  to  Locust 


06  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Grove,  were  soft  and  white  as  those  of  an  infant, 
became  rough  and  brown,  and  her  face  gradually 
assumed  the  same  dark  hue,  for  she  could  not  always 
itop  to  tie  on  her  simbonnet,  when  sent  for  wood  or 
irater. 

With  the  coming  of  summer,  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  sending  her  to  school,  though  Mrs. 
Deane  felt  at  first  as  if  she  could  not  be  deprived  of 
her  services.  Still  for  appearance'  sake,  if  for  nothing 
more,  she  must  go  ;  and  with  the  earliest  dawn  the 
busy  creature  was  up,  working  like  a  bee,  that  her 
aunt  and  cousins  might  not  have  so  much  to  do  in 
her  absence.  At  first  she  went  regularly,  but  after  a 
time  it  became  very  convenient  to  detain  her  at  home, 
for  at  least  two  days  in  every  week,  and  this  wrung 
from  her  almost  the  only  tears  she  had  shed  since 
the  morning,  when,  of  her  own  accord,  she  had  gone 
into  the  kitchen  to  perform  a  servant's  duties. 

Possessing  naturally  a  fondness  for  books,  and  feel- 
ing ambitious  to  keep  up  with  her  class,  she  at  last 
conceived  the  idea  of  studying  at  home  ;  and  many  a 
night,  long  after  her  aunt  and  cousins  were  asleep, 
she  sat  up  alone,  poring  over  her  books,  sometimes 
by  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp,  und  again  by  the  light 
of  the  full  moon,  whose  rays  seemed  to  fall  around 
her  more  brightly  than  elsewhere.  It  was  on  one  of 
these  occasions,  when  tracing  upon  her  map  the 
boundary  lines  of  India,  that  her  thoughts  reverted 
to  her  uncle  Nathaniel,  whose  name  &he  seldom  heard, 
and  of  whom  she  had  never  but  onoe  spoken.  Then 
in  the  presence  of  her  aunt  and  cousins  she  had 
wondered  why  he  did  not  answer  her  mother's 
letter. 

"  Because  he  has  nothing  to  write,  I  presume," 
said  Eugenia,  who  would  not  trust  her  mother  to 
feply. 


!  THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  V) 

And  Dora,  wholly  unsuspecting,  never  dreamed  of 
the  five  hundred  dollars  sent  over  for  her  benefit,  and 
which  was  spent  long  ago— though  not  for  her — never 
dreamed  of  the  letter  which  Engenia  had  written  in 
reply,  thanking  her  uncle  again  and  again  for  his 
generous  gift,  which  she  said  "was  very  acceptable, 
for  ma  was  rather  poor,  and  it  would  aid  her  materi- 
ally in  providing  for  the  wants  of  Dora,"  who  was 
represented  as  being  "  a  queer,  old-fashioned  child, 
psssessing  but  little  affection  for  any  one  and  who 
never  spoke  of  her  uncle  Nathaniel,  or  manifested 
the  least  gratitude  for  what  he  was  doing  ! " 

In  short,  the  impression  left  upon  the  mind  of 
TJncle  Nat  was  that  Dora,  aside  from  being  cold- 
hearted,  was  uncommonly  dull,  and  would  never  make 
much  of  a  woman ,  do  what  they  might  for  her  !  With 
a  sigh,  and  a  feeling  of  keen  disappointment,  he  read 
the  letter,  saying  to  himself,  as  he  laid  it  away, 
"  Can  this  be  true  of  Fanny's  child  ?  " 

But  this,  we  say,  Fanny's  child  did  not  know  ;  and 
as  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  painted  map  of  India, 
she  resolved  to  write  and  to  tell  him  of  her  mother's 
dying  words — tell  him  how  much  she  loved  him, 
because  he  was  her  father's  brother,  and  how  she 
wished  he  would  come  home,  that  she  might  know 
him  better. 

"  If  I  only  had  some  keepsake  to  send  him — some- 
thing he  would  prize,"  she  thought,  when  her  letter 
was  finished.  And  then,  as  she  enumerated  her 
small  store  of  treasures,  she  remembered  her  mother's 
beautiful  hair,  which  had  been  cut  from  her  head, 
as  she  lay  in  her  coffin,  and  which  now  held  a  place 
in  the  large  square  trunk.  "  I  will  send  him  a  lock 
of  that,"  she  said  ;  and  kneeling  reverently  by  the 
old  green  trunk,  the  shrine  where  she  nightly  said 
her  prayers,  she  separated  from  the  mass  of  rich, 


*8  DORA  DBANB,  OR, 

brown  hair,  one  long,  shining  tress,  which  sheincloged 
within  her  letter,  adding,  in  a  postscript,  "It  is 
mother's  hair,  and  Dora  s  tears  have  often  fallen 
npon  it.  JTis  all  I  have  to  give." 

Poor  little  Dora  !  Nathaniel  Deane  would  have 
prized  that  simple  gift  far  more  than  all  the  wealth 
which  he  called  his,  but  it  was  destined  never  to 
Teach  him.  The  wily  Eugenia,  to  whom  Dora  applied 
for  an  envelope,  unhesitatingly  showing  what  she 
had  written,  knew  better  than  to  send  that  note 
across  the  sea,  and  feigning  the  utmost  astonishment, 
Bhe  said  :  "  I  am  surprised,  Dora,  that  after  your 
mother's  ill-success,  you  should  think  of  writing  to 
Uncle  Nat.  He  is  a  suspicious,  miserly  old  fellow, and 
will  undoubtedly  think  you  are  after  his  money  I " 

"  I  wouldn't  send  it  for  the  world,  if  I  supposed 
he'd  fancy  such  a  thing  as  that,"  answered  Dora,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"Of  course  you  wouldn't,"  continued  Eugenia, 
perceiving  her  advantage  and  following  it  up.  "  You 
can  dp  as  you  like,  but  my  advice  is  that  you  do  not 
send  it ;  let  him  write  to  you  first  if  he  wishes  to 
open  a  correspondence  I  " 

This  decided  the  matter,  and  turning  sadly  away, 
Dora  went  back  to  her  chamber,  hiding  the  letter 
and  the  lock  of  hair  in  the  old  green  trunk. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  utterly  void  of  principle  ?  " 
asked  Alice,  as  Dora  quitted  the  room  ;  and  Eugenia 
replied  :  "  It  isn't  a  lack  of  principle,  it's  only  my 
good  management.  I  have  my  plans,  and  I  do  not 
intend  they  shall  be  frustrated  by  that  foolish  letter, 
which  would,  of  course,  be  followed  by  others  of  the 
same  kind.  Now  I  am  perfectly  willing  that  Undo 
Nat  should  divide  his  fortune  between  us  and  Dora, 
but  unfortunately  he  is  a  one  idea  man,  and  should 
he  conceive  a  fancy  for  our  cousin,  our  hopea  are 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  29 

blasted  forever ;  so  I  don't  propose  letting  him  do 
any  such  thing.  Mother  has  given  up  the  correspond- 
ence to  me,  and  I  intend  making  the  old  gentleman 
think  I  am  a  most  perfect  specimen  of  what  a  young 
lady  should  be,  saying,  of  course,  an  occasional  good 
word  for  you  !  I  believe  I  understand  him  tolerably 
well,  and  if  in  the  end  I  win,  I  pledge  you  my  word 
that  Dora  shall  not  be  forgotten.  Are  you  satis- 
fied ?  " 

Alice  could  not  say  yes,  but  she  knew  it  was  useless 
to  reason  with  her  sister,  so  she  remained  silent ; 
while  a  curious  train  of  thoughts  passed  through  her 
mind,  resulting  at  last  in  an  increased  kindness  of 
manner  on  her  part  towards  her  young  cousin,  who 
was  frequently  relieved  of  duties  which  would  other- 
wise have  detained  her  from  school.  And  Dora's 
step  grew  lighter,  and  her  heart  happier,  as  she 
thought  that  Alice  at  least  cared  for  her  welfare. 

On  New  Year's  Day  there  came  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Nat,  containing  the  promised  check,  which  Eugenia 
held  up  to  view,  while  she  read  the  following  brief 
lines  : 

"  Many  thanks  to  Eugenia  for  her  kind  and  wel- 
come letter,  which  I  may  answer  at  some  future  time, 
when  I  have  anything  interesting  to  say,." 

"  Have  you  written  to  Uncle  Nat,  and  did  you  tell 
him  of  me,  or  of  mother's  letter  ?  "  exclaimed  Dora, 
who  had  been  sitting  unobserved  behind  the  stove, 
and  who  now  -  sprang  eagerly  forward,  while  her 
cheeks  glowed  with  excitement. 

Soon  recovering  her  composure,  Eugenia  answered, 
"  Yes,  I  wrote  to  him,  and  of  course,  mentioned  you 
with  the  rest  of  us.  His  answer  you  have  heard. 

"But  the  other  paper,"  persisted  Dora.  "  Doesn't 
that  say  anything  ?" 

For  a  moment  Eugenia  hesitated,  and  then,decid- 


JO  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

ing  that  no  harm  could  come  of  Dora'i  knowing  ot 
the  money,  provided  she  was  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  object  for  which  it  was  sent,  she  replied,  care- 
lessly, "  Oh  that's  nothing  but  a  check.  The  old 
gentleman  was  generous  enough  to  send  us  a  little 
money,  which  we  need  badly  enough. " 

There  was  not  one  particle  of  selfishness  in  Dora's 
disposition,  and  without  a  thought  or  wish  that  any 
of  the  money  should  be  expended  for  herself,  she 
replied,  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  for  now  Aunt  Sarah  can 
have  that  shawl  she  has  wanted  so  long,  and  Alice 
the  new  merino." 

Dear  little  Dora  !  she  did  not  know  why  Eugenia's 
eyes  so  quickly  sought  the  floor,  nor  understand  why 
her  aunt's  hand  was  laid  upon  her  head  so  caressingly. 
Neither  did  she  know  that  Alice's  sudden  movement 
towards  the  window  was  to  hide  the  expression  of 
her  face  ;  but  when,  a  few  days  afterwards,  she  was 
herself  presented  with  a  handsome  merino,  which 
both  Eugenia  and  Alice  volunteered  to  make,  she 
thought  there  was  not  in  Dunwood  a  happier  child 
than  herself.  In  the  little  orphan's  pathway  there 
were  a  few  sunny  spots,  and  that  night  when,  by  the 
old  green  trunk,  she  knelt  her  down  to  pray,  she 
asked  of  God  that  he  would  reward  her  aunts  and 
cousins  according  to  their  kindnesses  done  to  her  I 

Need  we  say  that  childish  prayer  was  answered 
to  the  letter  1 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE  JI 


CHAPTEE  V. 

EOSE  HILL. 

A  LITTLE  way  out  of  the  village  of  Dunwood,  and 
situated  upon  a  slight  eminence,  was  a  large,  hand- 
some building,  which  had  formerly  been  owned  by  a 
Frenchman,  who,  from  the  great  jprofusior  of  rosea 
growing  upon  his  grounds,  had  given  to  the  place 
the  name  of  "  Rose  Hill."  Two  years  before  our 
story  opens,  the  Frenchman  died,  and  since  that  time 
Rose  Hill  had  been  unoccupied,  but  now  it  had  an 
other  proprietor,  and  early  in  the  summer  Mr.  Howard 
Hastings  and  lady  would  take  possession  of  their 
new  home. 

Of  Mr.  Hastings  nothing  definite  was  known,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  a  man  of  unbounded  wealth  and 
influence — "and  a  little  peculiar  withal,"  so  said 
Mrs.  Leah,  the  matron,  who  had  come  up  from  New 
York  to  superintend  the  arrangement  of  the  house, 
which  was  fitted  up  in  a  style  of  elegance  far  sur- 
passing what  most  of  Dunwood's  inhabitants  had  seen 
before,  and  was  for  two  or  three  weeks  thrown  opeik 
to  the  public.  Mrs.  Leah,  who  was  a  servant  in  Mr. 
Hastings's  family  and  had  known  her  young  mis- 
tress's husband  from  childhood,  was  inclined  to  be 
rather  communicative,  and  when  asked  to  explain 
what  she  meant  by  Mr.  Hastings^  peculiarities,  re- 
plied "  Oh,  he's  queer  every  way — and  no  wonder, 
with  his  kind  of  a  mother.  Why  she  is  rich  as  a  Jew, 
and  for  all  that,  she  made  her  only  daughter  learn 
bow  to  do  all  kinds  of  work.  It  would  make  her  a 


$3  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

better  wife,  she  said,  and  so,  because  Ella  had  rathet 
lie  on  the  sofa  and  read  a  nice  novel  than  to  be  pokin* 
round  in  the  kitchen  and  tending  to  things,  as  he 
calls  it,  Mr.  Hastings  looks  blue  and  talks  about 
woman's  duties,  and  all  that  nonsense.  Kecently  he 
has  taken  it  into  his  head  that  late  hours  are  killing 
her — that  it  isn't  healthy  for  her  to  go  every  night 
to  parties,  concerts,  operas,  and  the  like  o'  that,  so 
he's  going  to  bury  her  in  the  stupid  country,  where 
Bhell  be  moped  to  death,  for  of  course  there's  nobody 
here  that  shell  associate  with." 

"  The  wretch  ! "  exclaimed  Eugenia,  who  formed 
one  of  the  group  of  listeners  to  this  precious  bit  of 
gossip  ;  but  whether  she  intended  this  cognomen  for 
the  cruel  husband,  or  Mrs.  Leah,  we  do  not  know, 
as  she  continued  to  question  the  old  lady  of  Mrs. 
Hastings  herself,  asking  if  her  health  were  delicate 
and  if  she  were  pretty. 

"  Delicate  1  I  guess  she  is,"  returned  Mrs.  Leah. 
"  If  she  hasn't  got  the  consumption  now,  she  will 
have  it.  Why,  her  face  is  as  white  as  some  of  them 
lilies  that  used  to  grow  on  the  ponds  in  old  Connect- 
icut ;  and  then  to  think  her  husband  won't  let  her 
take  all  the  comfort  she  can,  the  little  time  she  has 
to  live  !  It's  too  bad,"  and  the  corner  of  Dame  Leah's 
silk  apron  went  up  to  her  eyes,  as  she  thought  how 
her  lady  was  aggrieved.  Soon  recovering  her  com- 
posure, she  reverted  to  Eugenia's  last  question,  and 
hastened  to  reply,  "  Pretty,  don't  begin  to  express 
it.  Just  imagine  the  least  little  bit  of  a  thing,  with 
the  whitest  face,  the  bluest  eyes  and  the  yellowest 
curls,  dressed  in  a  light  blue  silk  wrapper,  all  lined 
with  white  satin,  and  tied  with  a  tassel  as  big  as  my 
fist ;  wouldn't  such  a  creature  look  well  in  the  kitchen, 
telling  Hannah  it  was  time  to  get  dinner,  and  seeing 
if  Tom  was  cleaning  the  vegetables  1" 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  33 

And  Mrs.  Leah's  nose  went  up  at  the  very  idea  of  a 
bine  silk  wrapper  being  found  outside  of  the  parlor, 
even  if  the  husband  of  said  wrapper  did  have  to 
wait  daily  at  least  two  hours  for  his  badly  cooked 
dinner  ! 

"  Oh,  but  you  ought  to  see  her  dressed  for  a  party,0 
continued  Mrs.  Leah,  "  she  looks  like  a  queen,  all 
gparkling  with  diamonds  and  pearls  ;  but  she'll  never 
go  to  many  more,  poor  critter  1 " 

And  as  the  good  lady's  services  were  just  then 
needed  in  another  part  of  the  building,  she  bade 
good  morning  to  her  audience,  who  commented  upon 
what  they  had  heard,  each  according  to  their  own 
ideas — some  warmly  commending  Mr.  Hastings  for 
removing  his  delicate  young  wife  from  the  unwhole- 
some atmosphere  of  the  city,  while  others,  and  among 
them  Eugenia,  thought- he  ought  to  let  her  remain 
in  New  York,  if  she  chose.  Still,  while  commiserat- 
ing Mrs.  Hastings  for  being  obliged  to  live  in  "  that 
stupid  village"  Eugenia  expressed  her  pleasure  that 
she  was  coming,  and  on  her  way  home  imparted  to 
Alice  her  intention  of  being  quite  intimate  with  the 
New  York  lady,  notwithstanding  what  "  the  spiteful 
old  Mrs.  Leah  "  had  said  about  there  being  no  ont 
in  Dunwood  fit  for  her  to  associate  with.  In  almost 
perfect  ecstacy  Dora  listened  to  her  cousin's  animated 
description  of  Rose  Hill,  its  handsome  rooms  and 
elegant  furniture,  and  while  her  cheeks  glowed  with 
excitement,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could 
really  live  in  such  a  house  1" 

'•'And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  did.  Your  pres- 
ent prospects  look  very  much  like  it,"  was  Eugenia's 
scornful  reply,  which  Dora  scarcely  heard,  for  her 
thoughts  were  busy  elsewhere. 

She  had  an  eye  for  the  beautiful,  and,  strange  to 
say,  would  at  any  time  have  preferred  remaining  in  her 
I 


34  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

aunt's  pleasant  parlor,  to  washing  dishes  from  off  the 
long  kitchen  table  ;  but  as  this  last  seemed  to  be  her 
destiny,  she  submitted  without  a  murmur,  content- 
ing herself  the  while  by  building  castles,  jnst  as  many 
a  child  has  done  before  her  and  will  do  again.  Some 
how,  too,  Dora's  castles,  particularly  the  one  of 
which  she  was  mistress,  were  always  large  and  beau- 
tiful, just  like  Eugenia's  description  of  Eose  Hill, 
to  which  she  had  listened  with  wonder,  it  seemed  so 
natural,  so  familiar,  so  like  the  realization  of  what 
she  had  many  a  time  dreamed,  while  her  hands  were 
busy  with  the  dish  towel  or  the  broom. 

Dora  was  a  strange  child — so  her  mother  and  her 
aunt  Sarah  both  had  told  her — so  her  teachers 
thought,  and  so  her  companions  said,  when  she  stole 
away  by  herself  to  think,  preferring  her  own  thoughts 
to  the  pastime  of  her  schoolmates.  This  thinking 
was  almost  the  only  recreation  which  Dora  had,  and 
as  it  seldom  interfered  with  the  practical  duties  of 
her  life,  no  one  was  harmed  if  she  did  sometimes 
imagine  the  most  improbable  things  ;  and  if  for  a 
few  days  succeeding  her  cousin's  visit  to  Rose  Hill, 
she  did  seem  a  little  inattentive,  and  somewhat 
abstracted,  it  was  merely  because  she  had  for  a  time 
changed  places  with  the  fashionable  Mrs.  Hastings, 
whose  blue  silk  morning-gown,  while  discussed  in  the 
parlor,  was  worn  in  fancy  in  the  kitchen. 

Dream  on  Dora  Deane,  dream  on — but  guard  this, 
your  last  imagining,  most  carefully  from  the  proud. 
Eugenia,  who  would  scarce  deem  you  worthy  to  take 
upon  your  lips  the  name  of  Mrs.  Hastings,  much  less 
to  be  even  in  fancy  the  mistress  of  Hose  Hill. 


35 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.  AND  MRS.    HASTINGS. 


IN  blissful  ignorance  of  the  gossip  which  his  move- 
ments were  exciting  in  Dnnwood,  Mr.  Hastings  in 
the  city  went  quietly  on  with  the  preparations  for 
his  removal,  purchasing  and  storing  away  in  divers 
baskets,  boxes  and  bags,  many  luxuries  which  he 
knew  he  could  not  readily  procure  in  the  country, 
and  which  would  be  sadly  missed  by  his  young  girl- 
wife,  who  sat  all  day  in  her  mother's  parlor,  bemoan- 
ing her  fate  in  being  thus  doomed  to  a  life  in  the 
"  horribly  vulgar  country."  She  had  forgotten  that 
"she  could  live  anywhere  with  Mm"  for  the  Ella 
Hastings  of  to-day  is  the  Ella  Gray  of  little  more 
than  a  year  ago,  the  same  who  had  listened  to  the 
sad  story  of  DoraDeane,  without  ever  thinking  that 
some  day  in  the  future  she  should  meet  the  little 
girl  who  made  such  an  impression  upon  her  husband. 

Howard  Hastings  was  not  the  only  man  who,  with 
a  grand  theory  as  to  what  a  wife  ought  to  be,  had 
married  from  pure  fancy  ;  finding  too  late  that  she 
whom  he  took  for  a  companion  was  a  mere  plaything 
— a  doll  to  be  dressed  up  and  sent  out  into  the  fash- 
ionable world,  where  alone  her  happiness  could  be 
found.  Still  the  disappointment  to  such  is  not  the 
less  bitter,  because  others,  too,  are  suffering  from  the 
effect  of  a  like  hallucination,  and  Howard  Hastings 
felt  it  most  keenly.  He  loved,  or  fancied  he  loved, 
Ella  Grey  devotedly,  and  when  in  her  soft  flowing 


j6  DORA  DEANE.  OR, 

robes,  ol  richly  embroidered  lace,  with  the  orange 
jlossonis  resting  upon  her  golden  curls,  and  her  long 
jyelashes  veiling  he  reyes  of  blue,  she  had  stood  at 
the  altar  as  his  bride  there  was  not  in  all  New  York 
i  prouder  or  a  happier  man.  Alas,  that  in  the  inti- 
anate  relations  of  married  life,  there  should  never  be 
brought  to  light  faults  whose  existence  was  never 
inspected  !  Yet  so  it  is,  and  the  honeymoon  had 
scarcely  waned  ere  Mr.  Hastings  began  to  feel  a 
trery  little  disappointed,  as,  one  after  another,  the 
peculiarities  of  his  wife  were  unfolded  to  his  view. 

In  all  Ms  pictures  of  domestic  bliss,  there  had  ever 
seen  a  home  of  his  own,  a  chserful  fireside,  to  which 
>ie  could  repair,  when  the  day's  toil  was  done,  but 
jfilla  would  not  hear  of  housekeeping.  To  be  sure, 
it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  keep  up  a  grand  estab- 
lishment and  give  splendid  dinner-parties,  but  she 
kaew  that  Howard,  with  his  peculiar  notions,  would 
expect  her  to  do  just  as  his  "  dear,  fussy  old  mother 
did,"  and  that,  she  wouldn't  for  a  moment  think  of, 
for  the  really  "  did  not  know  the  names  of  one-half 
the  queer-looking  things  in  the  kitchen." 

"  She  will  improve  as  she  grows  older — she  ia  very 
young  yet,  but  little  more  than  eighteen/'  thought 
Mr.  Hastings  ;  and  his  heart  softened  towards  her, 
as  he  iemembered  the  kind  of  training  she  had  re- 
ceived from  her  mother,  who  was  a  pure  slave  of 
fashion,  and  would  have  deemed  her  daughters 
degraded  had  they  possessed  any  knowledge  of 
work. 

And  still,  when  the  aristocratic  Howard  Hastings 
had  sued  for  Ella's  hand,  she  felt  honored,  notwith- 
standing that  both  his  mother  and  sister  were  known 
to  be  well  .  killed  in  everything  pertaining  to  what 
she  called  '*  drudgery."  To  remove  his  wife  from 
her  mother^  influence,  and  at  the  same  time  pro 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  37 

long  her  life,  for  she  was  really  very  delicatej 
was  Mr.  Hasting's  aim  ;  and  as  he  had  always  fancied 
a  home  in  the  country,  he  at  last  purchased  Hose 
Hill  farm  in  spite  of  Ella's  tears,  and  the  frowns  of 
her  mother,  who  declared  it  impossible  for  her 
daughter  to  live  without  society,  and  pronounced 
all  country  people  "rough,  ignorant  and  vulgar." 

All  this  Ella  believed,  and  though  she  was  far  too 
amiable  and  sweet-tempered  to  be  really  angry,  she 
came  very  near  sulking  all  the  way  from  New  1'ork 
to  Dunwpod.  But  when  at  the  depot,  she  met  the 
new  carriage  and  horses  which  had  been  purchased 
expressly  for  herself,  she  was  somewhat  mollified 
and  telling  her  husband  "  he  was  the  best  man  in  tho 
world,"  she  took  the  reins  in  her  own  little  soft,  white 
hands,  and  laughed  aloud  as  she  saw  how  the  spirited 
creatures  obeyed  her  slightest  wish.  From  the  par- 
lor windows  of  Locust  Grove,  Eugenia  and  her  sister 
looked  out  upon  the  strangers,  pronouncing  Mr. 
Hastings  the  most  elegant-looking  man  they  had  ever 
seen,  while  his  wife,  the  girlish  Ella,  was  thought  far 
too  pale  to  be  very  beautiful. 

Near  the  gate  at  the  entrance  to  Rose  Hill,  was  a 
clear  limpid  stream,  where  the  school-children  often 
played,  and  where  they  were  now  assembled.  A  little 
apart  from  the  rest,  seated  upon  a  mossy  bank,  with 
her  bare  feet  in  the  running  water,  and  her  rich, 
auburn  hair  shading  her  brown  cheeks,  was  Dora 
Deane,  not  dreaming  this  time,  but  watching  so  in- 
tently a  race  between  tAVO  of  her  companions,  that 
she  did  not  gee  the  carriage  until  it  was  directly 
opposite.  Then,  guessing  who  its  occupants  were 
she  started  up,  coloring  crimson  as  she  saw  the  lady's 
eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  felt  sure  she  was  th^  subject 
of  remark. 

'« Loot,  Howard,"  said  Ella.    "  I  suppose  that  ii 


38  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

what  you  call  a  rural  sight — a  barefoot  girl,  with  a 
burnt  face  and  huge  sunbonnet  ?  " 

Ere  Mr.  Hastings  could  reply,  Dora,  wishing  to 
redeem  her  character,  which  she  was  sure  she  had 
lost  by  having  been  caught  with  her  feet  in  the 
brook,  darted  forward  and  opening  the  gate,  held 
it  for  them  to  pass. 

"  Shall  I  give  her  some  money  ?  "  softly  whispered 
Ella,  feeling  for  her  purse. 

"  Hush-sh  1 "  answered  Mr.  Hastings,  for  he  knew 
that  money  would  be  an  insult  to  Dora,  who  felt 
more  than  repaid  by  the  pleasant  smile  he  gave  her 
as  he  said,  "  Thank  you,  miss/' 

"I  have  seen  a  face  like  his  before,"  thought 
Dora,  as  she  walked  slowly  down  the  road,  while 
the  carriage  kept  on  its  way,  and  soon  carried  Ella 
to  her  new  home. 

Not  to  be  pleased  with  Rose  Hill  was  impossible, 
and  as  the  young  wife's  eye  fell  upon  the  handsome 
building,  with  its  cool,  vine-wreathed  piazza — upon 
the  shaded  walks,  the  sparkling  fountains  and  the 
thousands  of  roses  which  were  now  in  full  bloom,  she 
almost  cried  with  delight,  even  forgetting,  for  a 
time,  that  she  was  in  the  "  horrid  country."  But 
she  was  ere  long  reminded  of  the  fact  by  Mrs.  Leah, 
who  told  of  the  "  crowds  of  gaping  people,"  who 
had  been  up  to  see  the  house.  With  a  deprecating 
glance  at  the  village  where  the  "  gaping  people  "  were 
supposed  to  live,  Ella  drew  nearer  to  her  husband, 
expressing  a  wish  that  the  good  folks  of  Dunwood 
would  confine  their  calls  to  the  house  and  grounds, 
and  not  be  troubling  her.  But  in  this  she  was  des- 
tined to  be  disappointed,  for  the  inhabitants  of 
Dunwood  were  friendly,  social  people,  who  knew  no 
good  reason  why  they  should  not  be  on  terms  of  equal- 
ity with  the  little  lady  of  Hose  Hill ;  and  one  after- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  39 

noon,  about  a  week  after  her  arrival  at  Dunwood,  she 
was  told  that  some  ladies  were  waiting  for  her  in  the 
parlor. 

"Dear  me  !  Sophy/'  said  she,  while  a  frown  for  an 
instant  clouded  her  pretty  face,  "  tell  them  I'm  not 
at  home." 

"  But  I  just  told  them  you  were/'  answered  Sophy> 
adding  that  "  the  ladies  were  well-dressed  and  fine- 
looking,"  and  suggesting  that  her  young  mistress 
should  wear  down  something  more  appropriate  than 
the  soiled  white  muslin  wrapper  in  which  she  had 
lounged  all  day,  because  ' '  it  was  not  worth  her  while 
to  dress,  when  there  was  no  one  but  her  Imsband  to 
see  her." 

This,  however,  Ella  refused  to  do.  "  It  was  good 
enough  for  country  folks/'  she  said,  as  she  rather 
reluctantly  descended  to  the  parlor,  where  her  first 
glance  at  her  visitors  made  her  half  regret  that  she 
had  not  followed  Sophy's  advice.  Mrs.  Judge 
Howell  and  her  daughter-in-law  were  refined,  culti- 
vated women,  and  ere  Ella  had  conversed  with  them 
five  minutes,  she  felt  that  if  there  was  between  them 
any  point  of  inferiority,  it  rested  with  herself,  and 
not  with  them.  They  had  traveled  much,  both  in 
the  Old  and  New  World ;  and  though  their  home 
was  in  Boston,  they  spent  almost  every  summer  in 
Dunwood,  which  Mrs.  Howell  pronounced  a  most 
delightful  village,  assuring  Ella  that  she  could  not 
well  avoid  being  happy  and  contented.  Very  won« 
deringly  the  large  childish  blue  eyes  went  up  to  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Howell,  who,  interpreting  aright  their 
expression,  casually  remarked  that  when  she  was 
young,  she  fell  into  the  foolish  error  of  thinking 
there  could  be  nobody  outside  the  walls  of  a  city. 
"  But  the  experience  of  sixty  years  has  changed  my 
mind  materially,"  said  she,  "  for  I  have  met  quit* 


4O  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

as  many  refined  and  cultivated  people  in  the  country 
as  in  the  city." 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  Ella,  and  the  next  visitors, 
who  came  in  just  after  Mrs.  Howell  left,  were  obliged 
to  wait  while  she  made  quite  an  elaborate  toilet. 

"  Oh,  Ella,  how  much  better  you  are  looking  than 
you  were  airhour  or  two  since,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, who  entered  the  chamber  just  as  his  wife  was 
leaving  it. 

"There's  company  in  the  parlor/'  answered  Ella, 
tripping  lightly  away,  while  her  husband  walked  on 
into  the  dressing-room,  \vhere  he  stepped  first  over 
a  pair  of  slippers,  then  over  a  muslin  wrapper,  and 
next  over  a  towel,  which  Ella  in  her  haste  had  left 
upon  the  floor,  her  usual  place  for  everything. 

This  time  the  visitors  proved  to  be  Eugenia  and 
Alice,  with  the  first  of  whom  the  impulsive  Ella  was 
perfectly  delighted,  she  was  so  refined,  so  genteel, 
so  richly  dressed,  and  assumed  withal  such  a  patro- 
nizing air,  that  the  shortsighted  Ella  felt  rather 
overawed,  particularly  when  she  spoke  of  her  "uncle 
in  India,"  with  whom  she  was  "  such  a  favorite/* 
During  their  stay,  servants  were  introduced  as  a 
topic  of  conversation,  and  on  that  subject  Eugenia 
was  quite  as  much  at  home  as  Mrs.  Hastings,  des- 
canting at  large  upon  the  many  annoyances  one  was 
compelled  to  endure,  both  from  the  "  ignorance  and 
impertinence  of  hired  help."  Once  or  twice,  too, 
the  words  "  my  waiting-maid  "  escaped  her  lips,  and 
when  at  last  she  took  her  leave,  she  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  that  Mrs.  Hastings  was  duly  im- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  her  importance. 

"  Such  charming  people  I  never  expected  to  find 
in  the  country,  and  so  elegantly  dressed  too,"  thought 
Ella,  as  from  her  window  she  watched  them  walk- 
ing slowly  down  the  long  avenue.  That  silk  of  Misa 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  41 

Engeniate  could  not  have  cost  less  than  two  dollar* 
a  yard,  and  her  hands,  too,  were  as  soft  and  white  a» 
mine.  They  must  be  wealthy — those  Deanes  :  X 
wonder  if  they  ever  give  any  par  ties. " 

And  then,  as  she  remembered  sundry  gossamei 
fabrics  which  were  dignified  by  the  title  of  party 
dresses,  and  which,  with  many  tears,  she  had  folded 
away  as  something  she  should  never  need  in  the 
country,  she  exclaimed  aloud,  "  Why,  can't  /  have  * 
party  here  as  well  as  at  home  ?  The  house  is  a  great 
deal  larger  than  the  long  narrow  thing  on  which 
mama  prides  herself  so  much.  And  then  it  will  be 
such  fun  to  show  off  before  the  country  people,  who, 
of  course,  are  not  all  as  refined  as  the  Deanes.  I'll 
speak  to  Howard  about  it  immediately." 

"  Speak  to  me  about  what  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hastings, 
who  had  entered  the  parlor  in  time  to  hear  the  last 
words  of  his  wife. 

Very  briefly  Ella  stated  to  him  her  plan  of  giving 
a  large  party  as  soon  as  a  sufficient  number  of  the 
village  people  had  called. 

"You  know  you  wish  me  to  be  sociable  with 
them,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw  the  slightly  comical 
expression  of  her  husband's  face ;  "  and  how  can  I 
do  it  better  than  by  inviting  them  to  my  house  ?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  for  the  party,"  answered 
Mr.  Hastings,  "  but  I  do  rather  wonder  what  has 
so  soon  changed  your  mind." 

"Oh,  nothing  much,"  returned  Ella,  "only  the 
people  don't  seem  half  as  vulgar  as  mama  said  they 
would.  I  wish  you  could  see  Eugenia  Deane.  She  s 
perfectly  magnificent — wears  a  diamond  ring,  Val- 
enciennes lace,  and  all  that.  Her  mother  is  very 
wealthy,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  nave  never  supposed  so— if  you  mean  the 
widow  Deane,  who  lives  at  the  place  called  '  Locust 


42  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Grove,' "  answered  Mr.  Hastings ;  and  Ella  con. 
tinned,  "  Yes,  she  is,  I  am  sure,  from  the  way 
Eugenia  talked.  They  keep  servants,  I  know,  for 
she  spoke  of  a  waiting-maid.  Then,  too,  they  have 
an  old  bachelor  uncle  in  India,  with  a  million  or 
more,  and  these  two  young  ladies  will  undoubtedly 
inherit  it  all  at  his  death." 

"  Miss  Deane  must  have  been  very  communica« 
tive,"  said  Mr.  Hastings,  who , understood  the  world 
much  better  than  his  wife,  and  who  readily  guessed 
that  Miss  Eugenia  had  passed  herself  off  for  quite  as 
much  as  she  was. 

"  It  was  perfectly  natural  for  her  to  tell  me  what 
she  did,"  answered  Ella,  "  and  I  like  her  so  much  t 
I  mean  to  drive  over  there  soon,  and  take  her  out 
riding/' 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
ringing  of  the  door-bell,  and  it  was  not  again  re- 
sumed until  the  Monday  morning  following,  when, 
at  the  breakfast-table,  Ella  asked  for  the  carriage  to 
be  sent  round,  as  "  she  was  going  to  call  at  Mrs. 
Deane's,  and  take  the  young  ladies  to  ride." 

"  But  it  is  washing-day,"  suggested  Mr.  Hastings, 
wishing  to  tease  his  wife.  "And  nothing,  I  am 
told,  mortifies  a  woman  more  than  to  be  caught 
with  her  hair  in  papers,  and  her  arms  in  the  suds. 
So,  if  you  value  your  friend  Eugenia's  feelings,  you 
had  better  wait  until  to-morrow." 

"Suds,  Howard!  What  do  you  mean?"  asked 
the  indignant  Ella.  "  Eugenia  Deane's  hands  never 
saw  a  wash-tub  !  Why,  they  are  almost  as  white  as 
mine."  And  the  little  lady  glanced  rather  admir- 
ingly at  the  small  snowy  fingers,  whith  handled  so 
gracefully  the  heavy  knife  and  fork  of  silver. 

"  You  have  my  permission  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Has- 
tings, "  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  you'll  have  to 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  43 

watt  a  long  time  for  your  friends  to  make  their  ap- 
pearance. 

Mentally  resolving  not  to  tell  him  if  she  did,  Ella 
ran  up  to  her  room,  where,  leaving  her  morning 
dress  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  donning  a  hand- 
some plaid  silk,  she  descended  again  to  the  parlor, 
and  suggested  to  her  husband  the  propriety  of  bring- 
ing the  young  ladies  home  with  her  to  dinner,  al- 
leging, as  one  reason,  that  "there  was  no  use  ol 
having  a  silver  dining  set  and  nice  things,  unless 
there  was  somebody  to  see  them/* 

"  And  am  not  /  somebody  ? "  asked  Mr.  Has- 
tings, playfully  winding  his  arm  around  the  little 
creature,  who  answered,  "Why,  yes — but  mama 
never  thought  it  worth  her  while  always  to  have  the 
lest  tilings  and  fix  up  when  there  was  no  one  to  dinner 
but  us  and  father ;  and  I  don't  think  I  need  to  be  so 
particular  as  when  I  was  Ella  Grey  and  you  were 
Mr.  Hastings,  for  now  I  am  your  wife,  and  you 
are — -" 

Here  she  paused,  while  she  stooped  down  to  caress 
a  huge  Newfoundland  clog,  which  came  bounding 
in.  Then,  remembering  she  had  not  finished  her 
sentence,  she  added  after  a  moment,  "  And  you  are 
only  Howard  !" 

Silenced,  if  not  convinced,  Mr.  Hastings  walked 
away,  wondering  if  every  husband,  at  the  expiration 
of  fifteen  months,  reached  the  enviable  position  of 
being  "  only  Howard  ! "  Half  an  hour  later,  and 
Ella  Hastings,  having  left  orders  with  Mrs.  Leah 
for  a  "  company  dinner/'  was  riding  down  the 
shaded  avenue  into  the  highway,  where  she  bade 
the  coachman  drive  in  the  direction  of  Locust 
Grove. 


DORA   r>BANE,OR. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

THE  VISIT. 

THE  plain  though  comfortable  breakfast  of  drj 
toast,  bated  potatoes  and  black  tea  was  over.  This 
morning  it  had  been  eaten  from  the  kitchen  table  ; 
for,  as  Mr.  Hastings  had  surmised,  it  was  washing 
day,  and  on  such  occasions,  wishing  to  save  work, 
Mrs.  Deane  would  not  suffer  the  dining-room  to 
be  occupied.  To  this  arrangement  the  proud  Eugenia 
submitted  the  more  readily,  as  she  knew  that  at  this 
hour  they  were  not  liable  to  calls ;  so  she  who  had 
talked  of  her  waiting-maid  and  wealthy  uncle  to  Mrs. 
Hastings,  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  her  waiting- 
maid  eating  her  potatoes  with  a  knife  and  cooling  her 
tea  in  her  saucer ;  two  points  which  in  the  parlor  she 
loudly  denounced  as  positive  marks  of  ill  breeding, 
but  which  in  the  kitchen,  where  there  was  no  one  to 
see  her,  she  found  vastly  convenient !  Piles  of  soiled 
clothes  were  scattered  over  the  floor,  and  from  a  tub 
standing  near,  a  volume  of  steam  was  rising,  almost 
hiding  from  view  the  form  of  Dora  Deaue,  whose 
round  red  arms  were  diving  into  the  suds,  while  she 
to  herselfvvas  softly  repeating  the  lesson  in  History, 
that  day  to  be  recited  by  her  class,  and  which  she 
had  learned  the  Saturday  night  previous,  well  know- 
ing that  Monday's  duties  would  keep  her  from  school 
the  entire  day. 

In  the  chamber  above — her  long,  straight  hair 
plaited  up  in  braids,  so  as  to  give  it  the  wavy  ap- 
pearance she  had  so  much  admired  in  Mrs.  Hastings 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  45 

•—her  head  enveloped  in  a  black  silk  apron  and  her 
hands  incased  in  buckskin  gloves,  was  Eugenia, 
getting  her  room  to  rights,  and  complaining  with 
every  breath  of  her  hard  lot,  in  being  thus  obliged 
to  exert  herself  on  hot  summer  mornings. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  were  rich  as  Mrs.  Hastings  ?  * 
asked  Alice,  who  chanced  to  come  in. 

"  That  I  do,"  returned  Eugenia.  "  I  have  been 
uncomfortable  and  discontented  ever  since  I  called 
upon  her,  for  I  can't  see  why  there  should  be  such  a 
difference.  She  has  all  the  money,  servants  and 
dresses  which  she  wants,  besides  the  handsomest  and 
most  elegant  man  for  a  husband  ;  while  I,  Eugenia 
Deane,  who  am  ten  times  smarter  than  she,  and 
could  appreciate  these  things  so  much  better,  am 
obliged  to  make  all  sorts  of  shifts,  just  to  keep  up 
appearances.  But  didn't  I  impress  her  with  a  sense 
of  mj  greatness  /"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  Alice 
rejoined,"  Particularly  when  you  talked  of  your 
waiting-maid  !  I  don't  see,  Eugenia,  how  you  dare 
do  such  things,  for  of  course  Mrs.  Hastings  will 
eventually  know  that  you  mean  Dora." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  Eugenia  ; 
"and  even  if  she  does,  I  fancy  I  have  tact  enough  to 
•mooth  it  over  with  her,  for  she  is  not  very  deep." 

For  a  moment  Alice  regarded  her  sister  intently, 
and  then  said/*  I  wonder  from  whom  you  take  your 
character  for  deception." 

"  I've  dwelt  upon  that  subject  many  a  time  my- 
self," answered  Eugenia,"  and  I  have  at  last  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  as  father  was  not  famous  for 
sense  of  any  kind,  I  must  be  a  second  and  revised 
edition  of  mother — but  hark,  don't  you  hear  the  roll 
of  wheels  ? "  And  springing  up,  she  reached  the 
window  just  as  Mrs.  Hastings  alighted  from  her 
carriage  which  stood  before  the  gate. 


46  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  Great  goodness  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  there's  Mrs. 
Hastings  coming  here  to  call — and  /  in  this  predica- 
ment. What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Let  her  wait,  of  course,  until  we  change  our 
dresses,"  answered  Alice,  and  rushing  down  the 
stairs,  Eugenia  bade  Dora  "  show  the  lady  into  the 
parlor,"  adding,  "  and  if  she  asks  for  me,  say  I  am 
suffering  from  a  severe  headache,  but  you  presume 
I  will  see  her." 

Perfectly  delighted  at  the  idea  of  standing  face  to 
face  with  a  person  of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much- 
Dora  removed  her  high-necked  apron,  and  throwing 
it  across  the  tub  so  that  the  sleeves  trailed  upon  the 
floor,  was  hurrying  away,  when  her  foot  becoming 
accidentally  entangled  in  the  apron,  she  fell  headlong 
to  the  floor,  bringing  with  her  tub,  suds,  clothes  and 
all  !  To  present  herself  in  this  drenched  condition 
was  impossible,  and  in  a  perfect  tremor  lest  Mrs. 
Hastings  should  go  away,  Eugenia  vibrated,  brush  in 
hand,  between  her  own  chamber  and  the  head  of  the 
kitchen  stairs,  scolding  Dora  unmercifully  in  the 
one  place,  and  pulling  at  the  long  braids  of  her  hair 
in  the  other. 

At  last,  just  as  Mrs.  Hastings  was  about  despairing 
of  being  heard,  and  was  beginning  to  think  that  pos- 
sibly her  husband  might  be  right  and  Eugenia  in  the 
suds  after  all,  a  chubby,  brown-faced  girl  appeared, 
and  after  giving  her  a  searching,  curious  glance, 
showed  her  into  the  parlor. 

"Are  the  young  ladies  at  home?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hastings  ;  and  Dora,  who  had  never  told  a  falsehood 
in  her  life,  and  had  no  intention  of  doing  so  now, 
replied  that  they  were  and  would  soon  be  down  ; 
after  which,  with  a  low  courtesy  she  went  back  to 
the  scene  of  her  late  disaster,  while  Mrs.  Hastings 
busied  herself  awhile  by  looking  around  the  room 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  47 

which,  though    small,  was   very  handsomely  fur- 
nished. 

At  last,  beginning  to  grow  sleepy,  she  took  up  a 
book  and  succeeded  in  interesting  herself  so  far  as 
to  nod  quite  approvingly,  when  the  rustle  of  female 
garments  aroused  her,  and  in  a  moment  Eugenia  and 
Alice  swept  into  the  room.  Both  were  tastefully 
dressed,  while  about  Eugenia  there  was  an  air  of 
languor  befitting  the  severe  headache,  of  which  Mrs. 
Hastings  was  surprised  to  hear. 

"Then  that  girl  didn't  tell  you  as  I  bade  her  to 
do,"  said  Eugenia ;  adding,  that  "  Mrs.  Hastings 
must  have  thought  her  very  rude  to  keep  her  so 
long  waiting." 

But  Mrs.  Hastings  was  too  good-natured  to  think 
anything,  and,  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks, 
she  told  the  object  of  her  call,  saying,  that  "  the 
fresh  air  would,  undoubtedly,  do  Eugenia  good." 
In  this  opinion  the  young  lady  fully  concurred,  and, 
half  an  hour  later,  she  was  slowly  riding  through  the 
principal  streets  of  Dunwood,  wondering  if  her 
acquaintances  did  not  envy  her  for  being  on  such 
terms  of  intimacy  with  the  fashionable  Mrs.  Hastings. 
Very  politely  were  the  young  ladies  received  by  Mr. 
Hastings,  on  their  arrival  at  Rose  Hill,  and  through- 
out the  entire  day  their  admiration,  both  for  the 
place  and  its  owner,  increased,  though  Eugenia  could 
not  conceal  from  herself  the  fact,  that  she  stood  very 
touch  in  fear  of  the  latter,  whose  keen  black  eyes 
seemed  to  read  her  very  thoughts.  How  such  a 
man  came  to  marry  Ella  Grey,  was  to  her  a  puzzle  ; 
and  if  occasionally  she  harbored  the  thought  that 
Eugenia  Deane  was  far  better  suited  to  be  the  mistress 
of  Howard  Hastings's  home  than  the  childish  creature 
he  had  chosen,  she  was  only  guilty  of  what  had,  in  a 
similar  manner,  been  done  by  more  than  one  New 


48  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

York  belle.  Dinner  being  over,  Ella  led  the  way  to 
an  upper  balcony,  which  opened  from  her  chamber, 
and  which  was  a  cool,  shaded  spot.  Scarcely  were 
they  seated,  when  remembering  something  she  had 
left  in  the  parlor,  she  went  back  for  it,  and,  in  re- 
turning, she  ran  up  the  stairs  so  swiftly  that  a  sudden 
dizziness  came  over  her,  and  with  a  low  cry  she  fell 
half  fainting  into  the  arms  of  her  husband,  who 
bent  tenderly  over  her,  while  Eugenia  made  many 
anxious  inquiries  as  to  what  was  the  matter,  arid  if 
she  were  often  thus  affected. 

"  Yes,  often,"  answered  Ella,  who  began  to  revive ; 
then,  as  the  perspiration  gathered  thickly  about  the 
white  lips,  she  pressed  her  blue-veined  hand  upon 
her  side,  and  cried,  "  The  pain — the  pain  I  It 
has  come  again.  Country  air  won't  do  me  any  good. 
I  shall  die  of  consumption,  just  as  mother  said/' 
And  as  if  she  saw  indeed  the  little  grave,  on  which 
the  next  summer's  sun  would  shine,  she  hid  her  face 
in  her  husband's  bosom,  and  sobbed  aloud.  Instantly 
a  dark  thought  flashed  upon  Eugenia — a  thought 
which  even  she  would  not  harbor,  and  casting  it 
aside,  she  drew  nearer  to  the  weeping  Ella,  striving 
by  an  increased  tenderness  of  manner  to  atone  for 
having  dared  to  think  of  a  time  when  the  little  willow 
chair  on  the  balcony  would  be  empty,  and  Howard 
Hastings  free.  Soon  rallying,  Ella  feigned  to  smile 
at  her  discomposure,  saying  that  "  consumption  had 
been  preached  to  her  so  much  that  she  always  felt 
frightened  at  the  slightest  pain  in  her  side," 
thoughtlessly  adding,  as  she  glanced  at  her  husband, 
"  I  wonder  if  Howard  would  rniss  me  any,  were  1 
really  to  die." 

A  dark  shadow  settled  upon  Mr.  Hastings's  face, 
but  he  made  no  reply  ;  and  Eugenia,  who  was 
watching  him,  fancied  she  could  read  his  thoughts  ) 


THE  BAST  INDIA  UNCLB.  49 

but  when  they  at  last  started  for  home,  and  she  aair 
how  tenderly  he  wrapped  a  warm  shawl  around  hii 
delicate  young  wife,  who  insisted  upon  going  with 
them,  she  felt  that  however  frivolous  and  uncom- 
panionable Ella  might  be,  she  was  Howard  Hastings's 
wife,  and,  as  such,  he  would  love  and  cherish  her  to 
the  last. 

By  her  window  in  the  attio  sat  Dora  Deane,  poring 
over  to-morrow's  lessons  ;  but  as  the  silvery  voice  of 
Ella  fell  upon  her  ear,  she  arose,  and  going  to  her 
cousin's  chamber,  looked  out  upon  the  party  as  they 
drew  near  the  gate. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is  ! "  she  whispered  to  herself, 
as,  dropping  her  shawl,  and  flinging  back  her  golden 
curls,  Ella  sprang  up  to  reach  a  branch  of  locust 
blossoms,  which  grew  above  her  head. 

Then,  as  she  saw  how  carefully  Mr.  Hastings  re- 
placed the  shawl,  drawing  his  wife's  arm  within  his 
own,  she  stole  back  to  her  room,  and,  resuming  her 
Beat  by  the^  window,  dreamed,  as  maidens  of  thirteen 
will,  of  a  time  away  in  the  future,  when  she,  too, 
might  perhaps  be  loved  even  as  was  the  gentle  Ella 
Hastings. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE  PARTY. 

ONE  pleasant  July  morning,  the  people  of  Dun  wood 
were  electrified  by  the  news  that  on  Thursday  even-? 
ing,  Mrs.  Howard  Hastings  would  be  at  home  to  be- 
tween one  and  two  hundred  of  her  friends.  Among 
the  first  invited  was  Eugenia,  who  had  been  Mrs. 
Hastings's  chief  adviser,  kindly  enlightening  her  aa 
to  the  somebodies  and  nobodies  of  the  town,  and  ren« 

4 


SO  DORA  DEANE.  OR. 

dering  herself  so  generally  useful,  that,  in  a  fit  of 
gratitude,  Mrs.  Hastings  had  promised  her  her  brother 
Stephen,  a  fast  young  man,  who  was  expected  to  be 
present  at  the  party.  To  appear  well  in  his  eyes 
was,  therefore,  Eugenia's  ambition  ;  and  the  time 
which  was  not  spent  in  giving  directions  at  Hose  Hill, 
was  occupied  at  home  in  scolding,  because  her  mother 
would  not  devise  a  way  by  which  she  could  obtain  a 
new  pink  satin  dress,  with  lace  overskirt,  and  flowers 
to  match. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Deane  sought  to  convince 
her  daughter  how  impossible  it  was  to  raise  the  nec- 
essary funds.  Eugenia  was  determined  ;  and  at  last, 
by^  dint  of  secretly  selling  a  half -worn  dress  to  one 
Irish  girl,  a  last  year's  bonnet  to  another,  and  a 
broch6  shawl  to  another,  she  succeeded  in  obtaining 
enough  for  the  desired  purchase,  lacking  five  dollars, 
and  this  last  it  seemed  impossible  to  procure.  Bat 
Eugenia  never  despaired  ;  and  a  paragraph  read  one 
evening  in  a  city  paper,  suggested  to  her  a  plan  which 
she  resolved  to  execute  immediately. 

It  was  nearly  dark  ;  her  mother  and  sisters  were 
in  the  village ;  Dora  was  gone  on  an  errand,  and  she 
was  alone.  Half  reluctantly,  she  opened  the  stair 
door  which  led  to  Dora's  room,  the  low  room  in  the 
attic.  Up  the  steep  staircase,  and  through  the 
narrow  hall  she  went,  treading  softly,  and  holding 
her  breath,  as  if  she  feared  lest  the  dead,  from  her 
far-off  grave  in  the  great  city,  should  hear  her  noise- 
less footfall,  and  come  forth  to  prevent  the  wrong 
she  meditated.  But  no,  Fanny  Deane  slept  calmly 
in  her  coffin,  and  Eugenia  kept  on  her  way  un- 
molested, until  the  chamber  was  reached.  Then, 
indeed,  she  hesitated,  for  there  was,  to  her,  some- 
thing terrifying  in  the  darkness  which  had  gathered 
in  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  settled  l»ke  a  pall 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  $1 

upon  the  old  green  trunk.  To  reach  that  and  secura 
the  treasure  it  contained,  would  have  been  the  work 
of  a  moment ;  but,  wholly  powerless  to  advance, 
Eugenia  stood  still,  while  the  cold  perspiration 
started  from  every  pore. 

"  I  can  do  anything  but  that"  she  said,  at  last,  and, 
as  if  the  words  had  given  her  strength  to  move,  she 
turned  back,  gliding  again  through  the  narrow  hall, 
and  down  the  steep  stairway,  out  into  the  open  air  ? 
and  when,  that  night,  as  she  often  did,  Dora  looked 
for  her  mother's  beautiful  hair,  it  lay  in  its  ac- 
customed place,  unruffled  and  unharmed ;  and  the 
orphan  child,  as  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  dreamed 
not  of  the  danger  which  had  threatened  it,  or  of  the 
snare  about  to  be  laid  for  herself  by  Eugenia,  who 
could  not  yet  give  up  the  coveted  dress. 

Next  morning,  as  Dora  stood  before  the  mirror, 
arranging  her  long,  luxuriant  hair,  which  she  usually 
wore  in  braids,  hanging  down  her  back,  Eugenia 
came  up,  and  with  an  unusual  degree  of  kindness  in 
her  manner,  offered  to  fix  it  for  her,  commenting 
the  while  on  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  rich  auburn 
tresses,  and  saying,  that  if  she  were  in  Dora's  place 
she  would  have  it  cut  0jf,  as  by  this  means  she 
would,  when  grown  up,  have  much  handsomer  hair 
than  if  it  were  suffered  to  remain  long.  Dora  re- 
membered having  heard  her  mother  say  the  same  j 
but  she  had  a  pride  in  her  hair,  which  was  longer  and 
thicker  than  any  of  her  companions*;  so  she  said 
nothing  until  Eugenia,  who,  to  serve  her  own  purpose, 
would  not  hesitate  to  tell  a  falsehood,  and  who  knew 
how  much  Dora  admired  Mrs.  Hastings,  spoke  of 
that  lady's  beautiful  curls,  saying  they  were  all  th? 
result  of  her  having  worn  her  hair  quite  short  untu 
'she  was  sixteen  years  of  age.  Then,  indeed,  Dora 
wavered.  She  bad  recently  goffered  much  from  ths 


52  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

headache,  too,  and  ifc  might  relieve  that ;  so  that  when 
Eugenia  offered  her  a  ooral  bracelet  in  exchange  for 
her  hair,  she  consented,  and  Alice  entered  the  room 
just  as  the  last  shining  braid  dropped  upon  the  floor. 

"What  upon  earth!"  she  exclaimed,  stopping 
short,  and  then  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh  at  the 
comical  appearance  which  Dora  presented ;  for 
Eugenia  had  cut  close  to  the  head,  leaving  the  hair 
so  uneven  that  shingling  seemed  the  only  alternative, 
and  to  this  poor  Dora  finally  submitted.  When  at 
last  the  performance  was  ended,  and  she  glanced  at 
herself  in  the  mirror,  she  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of 
tears,  while  Alice  tried  to  soothe  her  by  saying  that 
it  really  would  eventually  benefit  her  hair,  and  that 
she  would  not  always  look  so  strangely. 

But  Dora,  who  began  to  suspect  that  it  was  pure 
selfishness  on  Eugenia's  part  which  had  prompted 
the  act,  felt  keenly  the  injustice  done  her,  and  re- 
fused to  be  comforted,  keeping  her  room  the  entire 
day,  and  weeping  until  her  eyelids  were  nearly 
blistered.  Meantime,  Eugenia  had  hurried  off  to 
the  city  with  her  ill-gotten  treasure,  on  which  the 
miserly  old  Jew,  to  whom  it  was  offered,  looked  with 
eager  longing  eyes,  taking  care,  however,  to  de- 
preciate its  value,  lest  his  customer  should  expect  too 
much.  But  Eugenia  was  fully  his  equal  in  manage- 
ment, and  when  at  night  she  returned  home,  she 
was  in  possession  of  the  satin,  the  lace  and  the  flowers, 
together  with  several  other  articles  of  finery. 

The  next  day  was  the  party,  and  as  Dora,  besides 
being  exceedingly  tasteful,  was  also  neat,  and  handy 
with  her  needle,  she  was  kept  from  school,  stitching 
the  livelong  day  upon  the  dainty  fabric,  a  portion 
of  which  had  been  purchased  with  her  hair  1  Oc- 
casionally, as  Eugenia  glanced  at  the  swollen  eyelida 
and  shorn  bead,  bending  00  uncomplainingly  ore* 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  53 

the  cloud  of  lace,  her  conscience  smote  her  for  what 
she  had  done ;  but  one  thought  of  Stephen  Qrey 
and  the  impression  she  should  make  on  him,  dis- 
sipated all  such  regrets  ;  and  when  at  length  the 
hour  for  making  her  toilet  arrived,  her  jaded  cousin 
was  literally  made  to  perform  all  the  offices  of  a 
waiting-maid.  Three  times  was  the  tired  little  girl 
sent  down  to  the  village  in  quest  of  something  which 
the  capricious  Eugenia  must  have,  and  which,  when 
brought,  was  not  "  the  thing  at  all,"  and  must  be 
exchanged.  Up  the  stairs  and  down  the  stairs  she 
went,  bringing  pins  to  Alice  and  powder  to  Eugenia, 
enacting,  in  short,  the  part  of  a  second  Cinderella, 
except  that  in  her  case  no  kind  old  godmother  with 
her  potent  wand  appeared  to  her  relief  ! 

They  were  dressed  at  last,  and  very  beautifully 
Eugenia  looked  in  the  pink  satin  and  flowing  lace, 
which  harmonized  so  well  with  her  complexion,  and 
which  had  been  bought  with  the  united  proceeds  of 
a  velvet  bonnet,  a  delaine  dress,  a  broche  shawl,  and 
Dora's  hair ! 

"Why  don't  you  compliment  me  ?"  she  said  to 
the  weary  child,  who,  sick  with  yesterday's  weeping, 
and  the  close  confinement  of  to-day,  had  laid  her 
aching  head  upon  the  arm  of  the  lounge. 

Slowly  unclosing  her  eyes,  and  fixing  them  upon 
her  cousin,  Dora  answered — 

"You  do  look  beautifully.  No  one  will  excel 
you,  I  am  sure,  unless  it  be  Mrs.  Hastings.  I  wish 
I  could  see  how  she  will  dress." 

"  You  might  go  up  and  look  in  at  the  window ; 
or,  if  Fd  thought  of  it,  I  could  have  secured  you 
the  office  of  door- waiter,"  said  the  thoughtless 
Eugenia,  adding,  as  she  held  out  her  shawl  for  Dora 
to  throw  around  her,  "Don't  you  wish  you  could 
attend  a  party  at  Hose  Hill  ?  " 


54  DORA  DEAKE,  OR. 

There  was  a  sneer  accompanying  this  question 
which  Dora  felt  keenly.  Her  little  swelling  heart 
was  already  full,  and,  with  quivering  lips  and  gush- 
ing  tears,  she  answered,  somewhat  bitterly — 

"  I  never  expect  to  be  anybody,  or  go  anywhere  ;w 
then,  as  her  services  were  no  longer  needed,  she  ran 
away  to  her  humble  room,  where  from  her  window 
she  watched  the  many  brilliant  lights  which  shone 
from  Rose  Hill,  and  caught  occasional  glimpses  of 
the  airy  forms  which  flitted  before  the  open  doora 
and  windows.  Once  she  was  sure  she  saw  Eugenia 
upon  the  balcony,  and  then,  as  a  sense  of  the  dif- 
ference between  herself  and  her  cousins  came  over 
her,  she  laid  her  down  upon  the  old  green  trunk, 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  cried  out, 
"  Nobody  cares  for  me,  or  loves  me  either.  I  wish 
I  had  died  that  winter  night.  Oh,  mother  1  come 
to  me,  I  am  so  lonely  and  so  sad. " 
'  Softly,  as  if  it  were  indeed  the  rustle  of  an  angel's 
wings,  came  the  evening  air,  through  the  open  case- 
ment, cooling  the  feverish  brow  and  drying  the  tears 
of  the  orphan  girl,  who  grew  strangely  calm ;  and 
when  at  last  the  moon  looked  in  upon  her,  she  was 
sleeping  quietly,  with  a  placid  smile  upon  her  lips. 
Years  after,  and  Dora  Deane  remembered  that  sum- 
mer night,  when,  on  the  hard  green  trunk,  she  slept 
so  soundly  as  not  to  hear  the  angry  voice  of  Eugenia, 
who  came  home  sadly  out  of  humor  with  herself  and 
the  world  at  large. 

At  breakfast,  next  morning,  she  was  hardly  on 
speaking  terms  with  her  sister,  while  Stephen  Grey 
was  pronounced  "  a  perfect  bore — a  baboon,  witn 
more  hair  than  brains. 

"And  to  that  I  should  not  suppose  you  would 
object,"  said  Alice,  mischievously.  "You  might 
find  it  useful  in  case  of  an  emergency." 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  55 

To  this  there  was  no  reply,  save  an  angry  flash  of 
the  black  eyes,  which,  it  seems,  had  failed  to  interest 
Stephen  Grey,  who  was  far  better  pleased  with  the 
unassuming  Alice,  and  who  had  paid  the  haughty 
Eugenia  no  attention  whatever,  except,  indeed,  to 
plant  his  patent  leather  boot  upon  one  of  her  lace 
flounces,  tearing  it  half  off,  and  leaving  a  sad  rent, 
which  could  not  well  be  mended.  This,  then,  was 
the  cause  of  her  wrath,  which  continued  for  some 
time ;  when  really  wishing  to  talk  over  the  events 
of  the  evening,  she  became  a  little  more  gracious, 
and  asked  Alice  how  she  liked  Mrs.  Elliott,  who  had 
unexpectedly  arrived  from  New  York. 

"  I  was  delighted  with  her,"  returned  Alice  ;  "  she 
was  such  a  perfect  lady.  And  hadn't  she  magnificent 
hair  I  Just  the  color  of  Dora's,"  she  added,  glancing 
at  the  little  cropped  head,  which  had  been  so  sud- 
denly divested  of  its  beauty. 

-  "  It  wasn't  all  hers,  though,"  answered  Eugenia, 
who  invariably  saw  and  spoke  of  every  defect.  "  I 
heard  her  telling  Ella  that  she  bought  a  braid  in 
Rochester  as  she  came  up.  But  what  ails  you  ? " 
she  continued,  speaking  now  to  Dora,  whose  eyes 
sparkled  with  some  unusual  excitement  and  who 
replied — 

"  You  said  Mrs.  Elliott,  from  New  York.  And 
that  was  the  name  of  the  lady  who  was  so  kind  to 
me.  Oh,  if  I  only  thought  it  were  she,  I'd " 

"  Make  yourself  ridiculous,  I  dare  say/'  inter- 
rupted Eugenia,  adding,  that  "  there  was  more  than 
one  Mrs.  Elliott  in  the  world,  and  she'd  no  idea 
that  so  elegant  a  lady  as  Mr.  Hastings's  sister  ever 
troubled  herself  to  look  after  folks  in  such  a  miserable 
old  hovel  as  the  one  where  Dora  had  lived." 

This,  however,  did  not  satisfy  the  child,  who, 
during  the  week  that  Mrs.  Elliott  remained  in  the 


$6  BORA  DEANE,  OR, 

neighborhood,  cast  many  longing  glances  in  the  di- 
rection of  Rose  Hill,  gazing  oft  with  tearful  eyes 
upon  a  female  figure  which  sometimes  walked  upon 
the  balcony,  and  which,  perhaps,  was  her  benefac- 
tress. One  night  it  was  told  at  Locust  Grove  that 
Mrs.  Elliott  had  gone,  and  then,  with  a  feeling  of 
desolation  for  which  she  could  not  account,  Dora 
again  laid  her  face  on  the  old  green  trunk  and 
wept. 

Poor  Dora  Deane  I  The  path  she  trod  was  dark, 
indeed,  but  there  was  light  ahead,  and  even  now  it 
wa»  breaking  upon  her  though  she  knew  it  not. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DORA  AT  ROSE  HILL. 

SUMMEB  was  over.  The  glorious  September  days 
were  gone.  The  hazy  October  had  passed  away,  and 
the  autumn  winds  had  swept  the  withered  leaves 
from  the  tall  trees  which  grew  around  Rose  Hill ; 
when  one  cold,  rainy  November  morning,  a  messen- 
ger was  sent  to  Mrs.  Deane,  saying  that  Mrs.  Hastings 
was  sick,  and  wished  to  see  her. 

"  Mrs.  Hastings  sent  for  mother  I  How  funny  ! 
There  must  be  some  mistake,"  said  Eugenia,  put- 
ting her  head  in  at  the  door.  "  Are  you  sure  it  was 
mother?" 

"  Yes,  quite  sure,"  answered  the  man.  "  Mrs. 
Hastings  thought  she  would  know  what  to  do  for  the 
baby,  which  was  born  yesterday,  and  is  a  puny  little 
thing." 

This  silenced  Eugenia,  who  waited  impatiently 
<mtil  nightfall,  when  her  mother  returned  with  a  sad 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  $/ 

account  of  affairs  at  Rose  Hill.  Mrs.  Hastings  wag 
sick  and  nervous,  Mrs.  Leah  was  lazy  and  cross,  the 
servants  ignorant  and  impertinent,  the  house  was  in 
disorder ;  while  Mr.  Hastings,  with  a  cloud  on  his 
face,  ill  befitting  a  newly-made  father,  stalked  up 
and  down  the  sick-room,  looking  in  vain  for  an 
empty  chair,  so  filled  were  they  with  blankets,  towels, 
baby's  dresses,  and  the  various  kinds  of  work  which 
Ella  was  always  beginning  and  never  finishing. 

"  Such  an  ignorant,  helpless  creature  I  never  saw/' 
laid  Mrs.'  Deane,  "  Why,  she  don't  know  anything 
—and  such  looking  rooms  1  I  don't  wonder  her 
(Servants  give  her  so  much  trouble  ;  but  my  heart 
ached  for  him,  poor  man,  when  I  saw  him  putting 
away  the  things,  and  trying  to  make  the  room  a 
little  more  comfortable." 

It  was  even  as  Mrs.  Deane  had  said.  Ella,  whose 
favorite  theory  was,  "a  big  house,  a  lot  of  things, 
and  chairs  enough  to  put  them  in,"  was  wholly  un- 
prepared for  sickness,  which  found  her  in  a  sad 
condition.  To  be  sure  there  were  quantities  of 
French  embroidery,  thread  lace  and  fine  linen,  while 
the  bed,  on  which  she  lay,  cost  a  hundred  dollars, 
and  the  rosewood  crib  was  perfect  of  its  kind,  but 
there  was  a  great  lack  of  neatness  and  order ;  and  as 
day  after  day  Mr.  Hastings  stood  with  folded  arms, 
looking  first  from  one  window  and  then  from  the 
other,  his  thoughts  were  far  from  being  agreeable, 
save  when  he  bent  over  the  cradle  of  his  first-born, 
and  then  there  broke  over  his  face  a  look  of  unutter- 
able tenderness,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  shade  of 
deep  anxiety  as  his  eye  rested  upon  his  frail  young 
wife,  whose  face  seemed  whiter  even  than  the  pillow 
on  which  it  lay. 

After  a  few  weeks,  during  which  time  Ella  had 
gained  a  little  strength  and  wag  able  to  see  he/ 


58  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

friends,  Eugenia  came  regularly  to  Rose  Hill,  sitting 
all  day  by  the  bedside  of  the  invalid,  to  whom  she 
sometimes  brought  a  glass  of  water,  or  some  such 
trivial  thing.  Occasionally,  too,  she  would  look  to 
see  if  the  baby  were  asleep,  pronouncing  it  "  a  per- 
fect little  cherub,  just  like  its  mother  ; "  and  there 
her  services  ended,  for  it  never  occurred  to  her  that 
she  could  make  the  room  much  more  cheerful  by 
picking  up  and  putting  away  the  numerous  articlea 
which  lay  scattered  around,  and  which  were  a  great 
annoyance  to  the  more  orderly  Mr.  Hastings.  Once, 
when  Ella,  as  usual,  was  expatiating  upon  her  good- 
ness, asking  her  husband  if  she  were  not  the  best  girl 
in  the  world,  and  saying  "  they  must  make  her  some 
handsome  present  in  return  for  all  she  had  done,"  he 
replied,  "I  confess,  I  should  think  more  of  Miss 
Deane,  if  she  did  you  any  real  good,  or  rendered  you 
any  actual  service  ;  but,  as  far  as  I  can  discover,  she 
merely  sits  here  talking  to  you  until  you  are  wearied 
out."' 

"  Why,  what  would  you  have  her  do  ? "  asked 
Ella,  her  large  blue  eyes  growing  larger  and  bluer. 

"  I  hardly  know  myself,"  answered  Mr.  Hastings  ; 
"  but  ii  seems  to  me  that  a  genuine  woman  could 
not  sit  day  after  day  in  such  a  disorderly  room  as  this." 

"  Oh,  Howard  1 "  exclaimed  Ella,  "  you  surely 
cannot  expect  Eugenia  Deane  to  do  a  servant's  duty. 
Why,  she  has  been  as  delicately  brought  up  as  I,  and 
knows  quite  as  little  of  work." 

"  More  shame  for  her  if  this  is  true,"  answered 
Mr.  Hastings  somewhat  bitterly,  and  Ella  continued. 

"  You've  got  such  queer  ideas,  Howard,  of  woman's 
duties.  I  should  suppose  you  would  have  learnedr 
tre  this,  that  few  ladies  are  like  your  mother,  who, 
though  a  blessed  good  soul,  has  the  oddest  notions." 

"  But  they  make  a  man's  home  mighty  comfort- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  59 

able,  those  odd  notions  of  mother's/'  said  Mr.  Has- 
tings ;  then,  knowing  how  useless  it  would  be  to 
argue  the  point,  he  was  about  changing  the  subject, 
when  the  new  nurse,  who  had  been  there  but  a  few 
days  (the  first  one  having  quarreled  with  Mrs.  Leah, 
and  gone  home),  came  in  and  announced  her  inten- 
tion of  leaving  also,  saying,  "  she  would  not  live  in 
the  same  house  with  old  mother  Leah  ! " 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  Hastings  tried  to  soothe 
the  angry  girl — she  was  determined,  and  for  a  second 
time  was  Ella  left  alone. 

"  Oh,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  "  she  groaned,  as 
the  door  closed  upon  her  late  nurse.  "  Do,  pray, 
Howard,  go  to  the  kitchen  and  get  me  some — some— 
/  don't  know  what,  but  get  me  something  I " 

With  a  very  vague  idea  as  to  what  he  was  to  get  or 
to  do,  Mr.  Hastings  left  the  room  just  as  it  was  en- 
tered by  Eugenia,  to  whom  Ella  detailed  her  griev- 
ances. "  Her  head  ached  dreadfully,  Howard  waa 
cross,  and  her  nurse  gone.  Oh,  Eugenia  1 "  she 
cried,  "  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  wish  I  could  die.  Don't 
ever  get  married.  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

And  hiding  her  face  in  the  pillow,  poor  Ella 
Bobbed  bitterly.  For  a  time  Eugenia  stood,  revolv- 
ing the  propriety  of  offering  Dora  as  a  substitute  in 
the  place  of  the  girl  who  had  just  left.  "  Mother 
can  work  a  little  harder,"  she  thought.  "  And  Alice 
can  help  her  occasionally.  It  will  please  Mr.  Has- 
tings, I  know.  Poor  man,  I  pity  him!  " 

So,  more  on  account  of  the  pity  she  felt  for  Mr. 
Hastings,  than  for  the  love  she  bore  his  wife,  she 
said  at  last,  "  We  have  a  little  girl  at  our  house,  who 
is  very  capable  for  one  of  her  years.  I  think  she 
would  be  quite  handy  in  a  sick-room.  At  all  events, 
she  can  rock  the  baby.  Shall  I  send  her  up  until 
you  get  some  one  else  f  " 


60  DORA  DEANS,  OR, 

"Oh,  If  yon  only  would,"  answered  Ella.  "I 
should  be  so  glad." 

So,  it  was  arranged  that  Dora  should  come  next 
morning,  and  then  Eugenia,  who  was  this  time  in  a 
hurry,  took  her  leave,  having  first  said  that  Mrs. 
Hastings  "  needn't  think  strange  if  Dora  called  her 
cousin  and  her  mother  aunt,  for  she  was  a  poor  rela- 
tion, whom  they  had  taken  out  of  charity  I 

At  first  Mrs.  Deane  objected  to  letting  her  niece 
go,  "  for  she  was  needed  at  home,"  she  said ;  but 
Eugenia  finally  prevailed,  as  she  generally  did,  and 
the  next  morning  Dora,  who  was  rather  pleased  with 
the  change,  started  bundle  in  hand  for  Rose  Hill. 
She  had  never  been  there  before,  and  she  walked 
leisurely  along,  admiring  the  beautiful  house  and 
grounds,  and  thinking  Mrs.  Hastings  must  be  very 
happy  to  live  in  so  tine  a  place.  Ella  was  unusually 
nervous  and  low-spirited  this  morning,  for  her  hus- 
band had  gone  to  Rochester  ;  and  when  Dora  was 
shown  into  the  room  she  was  indulging  in  a  fit  of 
crying,  and  paid  no  attention  whatever  when  Mrs. 
Leah  said,  "  This  is  the  new  girl."  "  She'll  get  over 
it  directly/'  muttered  the  housekeeper,  as  she  went 
from  the  room,  leaving  Dora  inexpressibly  shocked 
at  witnessing  such  grief  in  one  whom  she  had  thought 
BO  happy. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?"  she  said  at  last, 
drawing  near,  and  involuntarily  laying  her  hand  on 
the  golden  curls  she  had  so  much  admired. 

There  was  genuine  sympathy  in  the  tones  of  that 
childish  voice,  which  touched  an  answering  chord 
in  Ella's  heart,  and  lifting  up  her  head  she  gazed 
curiously  at  the  little  brown-faced  girl,  who  stood 
there  neatly  attired  in  a  dress  of  plain  dark  calico, 
her  auburn  hair,  which  had  grown  rapidly,  combed 
back  from  her  open  brow,  and  her  dark-blue  «ye§ 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  6l 

fall  of  tears.  "No  one  could  mistake  Dora  Deane  foi 
a  menial,  and  few  could  look  upon  her  without  being 
at  once  interested  ;  for  early  sorrow  had  left  &  shade 
of  sadness  upon  her  handsome  face,  unusual  in  one 
BO  young.  Then,  too,  there  was  an  expression  of 
goodness  and  truth  shining  out  all  over  her  counten- 
ance, and  Ella's  heart  yearned  towards  her  at  once 
as  towards  a  long-tried  friend.  Stretching  out  her 
white,  wasted  hand,  she  said,  "  And  yon  are  Dora. 
I  am  glad  you  have  come.  The  sight  of  you  makes 
me  feel  better  already,"  and  the  small,  rough  hand 
ehe  held  was  pressed  with  a  fervor  which  showed 
that  she  was  sincere  in  what  she  said.  It  was  strange 
how  fast  they  grew  to  liking  each  other — those  two 
children — for  in  everything  save  years,  Ella  was 
younger  far  than  Dora  Deaue ;  and  it  was  strange, 
too,  what  a  change  the  little  girl's  presence  wrought 
in  the  sick-chamber.  Naturallv  neat  and  orderly, 
she  could  not  sit  quietly  down  in  the  midst  of  dis- 
order, and  as  far  as  she  was  able,  she  put  things  in 
their  proper  places ;  then,  as  her  quick-seeing  eye 
detected  piles  of  dust  which  for  days  had  been  un- 
molested, she  said,  "  Will  it  disturb  you  if  I  sweep  ?  * 

"  Not  at  all.  Do  what  you  like,"  answered  Ella, 
her  own  spirits  rising  in  proportion  as  the  appear- 
ance of  her  surroundings  was  improved. 

Everything  was  in  order  at  last.  The  carpet  was 
swept,  the  furniture  dusted,  the  chairs  emptied,  the 
curtains  looped  back,  and  the  hearth  nicely  washed. 
Fresh,  clean  linen  was  put  upon  the  pillows,  while 
Ella's  tangled  curls  were  carefully  brushed  and 
tucked  under  her  tasteful  cap,  and  then  for  the  first 
time  Dora  took  the  baby  upon  her  lap.  It  was  a 
little  thing,  but  very  beautiful  to  the  young  mother, 
and  beautiful,  too,  to  Dora,  when  she  learned  that 
its  name  was  "  Fannfe." 


62  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  Fannie!  "  how  it  carried  her  back  to  the  long 
•go,  when  her  father  had  spoken,  and  her  precioua 
mother  had  answered  to  that  blessed  name  1  And 
how  it  thrilled  her  as  she  repeated  it  again  and 
•gain,  while  her  tears  fell  like  rain  on  the  face  of 
the  unconscious  infant. 

"  Why  do  you  cry  ? "  asked  Ella,  and  Dora  an- 
awered,  "  I  am  thinking  of  mother.  Her  name  was 
Fannie,  and  I  shall  love  the  baby  for  her  sake." 

"  Has  your  mother  long  been  dead  ?  Tell  me  of 
her,"  said  Ella  ;  and  drawing  her  chair  close  to  the 
bedside,  Dora  told  the  sad  story  of  her  life,  while 
Ella  Hastings's  tears  fell  fast  and  her  eyes  opened 
*ide  with  wonder  as  she  heard  of  the  dreary  room, 
the  dead  mother,  the  bitter  cold  night,  and  of  the 
good  lady  who  brought  them  aid. 

Starting  up  in  bed  and  looking  earnestly  at  Dora, 
Ella  said,  "  And  you  are  the  little  girl  whom  Howard 
and  Mrs.  Elliott  found  sleeping  on  her  mother's  neck 
that  New  Year's  morning.  But  God  didn't  let  you 
freeze.  He  saved  you  to  live  with  me,  which  you 
will  do  always.  And  I  will  be  to  you  a  sister,  for  I 
know  you  must  be  good." 

And  the  impulsive  creature  threw  her  arms  around 
the  neck  of  the  astonished  Dora,  who  for  some  time 
could  not  speak,  so  surprised  and  delighted  was  she 
to  learn  that  her  benefactress  was  indeed  the  sister 
of  Mr.  Hastings.  After  a  moment,  Ella  continued, 
"  And  you  came  to  live  with  some  distant  relatives 
—with  Mrs.  Deane?" 

"  Yes,  with  Aunt  Sarah,"  answered  Dora,  stating 
briefly  the  comparatively  double  relationship  that 
existed  between  herself  and  her  cousins,  and  casually 
mentioning  her  nncle  Nathaniel,  whom  she  had 
never  seen. 

"  Then  he  ii  yetcr  uncle,  too— the  old  East  India 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  63 

pan,  whose  heir  Eugenia  is  to  be.  I  should  think 
he  would  send  you  money." 

"  He  never  does,"  said  Dora,  in  a  choking  voice, 
"  He  sent  some  to  Eugenia  once,  but  none  to  me," 
and  a  tear  at  her  uncle's  supposed  coldness  fell  on 
the  baby's  head. 

Ella  was  puzzled,  but  she  could  not  doubt  the 
truth  of  what  Dora  had  said,  though  she  wisely  re* 
framed  from  betraying  Eugenia,  in  whom  her  con» 
fidence  was  slightly  shaken,  but  was  soon  restored  by 
the  appearance  of  the  young  lady  herself,  who  over- 
whelmed her  with  caressess,  and  went  into  ecstasiea 
over  the  little  Fannie,  thus  surely  winning  her  way 
to  the  mother's  heart.  Owing  to  a  severe  cold  from 
which  Eugenia  was  suffering,  she  left  for  home  about 
dark,  and  soon  after  her  departure,  Ella  began  to 
expect  her  husband. 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  where  to  find  his  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  III  bring  them  out  for  him," 
•aid  Dora,  wheeling  up  before  the  glowing  grate  the 
large  easy-chair  which  she  felt  almost  sure  was 
occupied  by  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  His  gown  and  slippers  ! "  repeated  Ella.  "  It'a 
an  age  since  I  saw  them,  but  I  guess  they  are  in  the 
dressing-room,  either  behind  the  door,  or  in  the 
black  trunk,  or  on  the  shelf— or,  stay,  I  shouldn't 
Wonder  if  they  were  on  the  closet  floor. 

And  there,  under  a  promiscuous  pile  of  other 
garments,  Dora  found  them,  sadly  soiled,  and  look- 
ing as  if  they  had  not  seen  the  light  for  many  a  day. 
Shaking  out  the  gown,  and  brushing  the  dust  from 
off  the  slippers,  she  laid  them  in  the  chair,  and  Ella, 
who  was  watching  her,  said,  "  Pray,  what  put  that 
into  your  mind  ?  " 

"  1  don't  know,"  returned  Dora ;  "  only  I  thought, 
perhaps,  you  did  so,  when  you  were  welL  Srer  ao 


64  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

long  ago,  before  pa  died,  mother  made  him  a  calico 
dressing-gown,  and  he  used  to  look  so  pleased  when 
he  found  it  in  his  chair." 

"  Strange  I  never  thought  of  such  things,"  softly 
whispered  Ella,  unconsciously  learning  a  lesson  from 
the  little  domestic  girl,  who  brushed  the  hearth, 
dropped  the  curtains,  lighted  the  lamp,  and  then 
went  out  to  the  kitchen  in  quest  of  milk  for  Fannie. 

"  He  will  be  so  happy  and  pleased  !  "  said  Ella, 
us,  lifting  up  her  head,  she  surveyed  the  cheerful 
room. 

And  happy  indeed  he  was.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  left  his  wife  since  her  illness,  and  with  a 
tolerable  degree  of  satisfaction  he  took  his  seat  in 
the  evening  cars.  We  say  tolerable,  for  though  he 
was  really  anxious  to  see  Ella  and  the  baby,  he  was 
in  no  particular  haste  to  see  the  room  in  which  he 
had  left  them ;  and  rather  reluctantly  he  entered  his 
handsome  dwelling,  starting  back  when  he  opened 
the  door  of  the  sick  chamber,  and  half  thinking  he 
had  mistaken  another  man's  house  for  his  own.  But 
Ella's  voice  reassured  him,  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
had  heard  from  her  the  story  of  Dora  Deane,  who 
ere  long  came  in,  and  was  duly  presented.  Taking 
her  hand  in  his,  and  looking  down  upon  her  with 
his  large  black  eyes,  he  said,  "  I  have  seen  you  be- 
fore, I  believe,  but  I  did  not  then  think  that  when 
we  met  again  I  should  be  so  much  indebted  to  you. 
I  am  glad  you  are  here,  Dora." 

Once  before  had  he  held  that  hand  in  his,  and  now, 
as  then,  the  touch  sent  the  warm  blood  bounding 
through  her  veins.  She  had  passed  through  much 
since  that  wintry  morning,  had  grown  partially  in- 
different to  coldness  and  neglect,  but  the  extreme 
kindness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings  touched  her 
heart;  and  stammering  oat  &a  almost 


Beply,  she  turned  away  to  hide  her  tears,  while  Mr. 
Hastings,  advancing  towards  the  fire,  exclaimed, 
"  My  double  gown  !  And  it's  so  long  since  I  saw  itl 
To  whose  thoughtfulness  am  I  indebted  for  this  ?" 

"  'Twas  Dora/'  answered  Ella.  "  She  thinks  of 
everything.  She  is  my  good  angel,  and  I  mean  to 
keep  her  always,  if  she  will  stay.  Will  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  I  only  could,"  answered  Dora ;  "  but  I 
can't.  They  need  me  at  home  I " 

"  Why  need  yon  ?  They  have  servants  enough," 
said  Ella,  who  had  not  yet  identified  Eugenia's  wait- 
ing-maid with  the  bright,  intelligent  child  before 
her. 

"We  have  no  servants  but  me,"  answered  the 
truthful  Dora.  "  We  are  poor,  and  I  help  Aunt 
Sarah  to  pay  for  my  board  ;  so,  you  see,  I  can't  stay. 
And  then,  too,  I  must  go  to  school/' 

Perfectly  astonished  at  this  fresh  disclosure,  Ella 
glanced  towards  her  husband,  whose  quizzical  expres- 
sion kept  her  silent,  for  it  seemed  to  say,  "  I  told 
you  all  the  time,  that  Miss  Eugenia  was  not  exactly 
what  you  supposed  her  to  be." 

"  How  could  she  deceive  me  so  ? n  thought  Ella, 
while  Mr.  Hastings  was  mentally  resolving  to  be- 
friend the  child,  in  whom  he  felt  such  a  strong  in- 
terest. 

Wishing  to  know  something  of  her  education,  he 
questioned  her  during  the  evening  concerning  her 
studies,  and  the  books  she  had  read,  feeling  surprised 
and  pleased  to  find  how  good  a  scholar  she  was,  con- 
sidering her  advantages. 

"  There's  the  germ  of  a  true,  noble  woman  there. 
I  wish  my  sister  could  have  the  training  of  her,"  he 
thought,  as  he  saw  how  animated  she  became  when 
ne  mentioned  her  favorite  books,  and  then  watched 
her  as  she  hovered  round  the  bedside  of  his  wile. 


€6  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Very  swiftly  and  pleasantly  passed  the  three  follow- 
ing days,  and  during  all  that  time  Eugenia  did  not 
once  appear  ;  but  at  the  close  of  t'^e  fourth  day,  a 
note  was  brought  to  Ella,  saying  that  both  Engeuia 
and  her  mother  were  sick,  and  Dora  must  come  home. 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  let  you  go  ? "  cried  Ella,  while 
Dora  crept  away  into  a  corner  and  wept. 

But  there  was  no  alternative,  and  just  at  dark  she 
came  to  say  good-by.  Winding  her  feeble  arms 
around  her  neck,  Ella  sobbed  out  her  adieu,  and 
then,  burying  her  face  in  her  pillow,  refused  to  be 
comforted.  One  kiss  for  the  little  Eanuie — one  fare- 
well glance  at  the  weeping  Ella,  and  then,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  Dora  went  out  from  a  place  where  she 
had  been  so  happy — went  back  to  the  home  where 
no  one  greeted  her  kindly,  save  the  old  house  cat, 
who  purred  a  joyous  welcome,  and  rubbed  against 
her  side  as  she  kindled  a  fire  in  the  dark,  dreary 
kitchen,  where,  on  the  table,  were  piles  of  dishes 
left  for  her  to  wash.  That  night,  when,  at  a  late 
hour,  she  stole  up  to  bed,  the  contrast  between  her 
humble  room  and  the  cozy  chamber  where  she  had 
recently  slent,  affected  her  painfully,  and,  mingled 
with  her  nightly  prayer,  was  the  petition,  that 
"  sometime  she  might  go  back  and  live  with  Mr. 
Hastings." 

Meantime  at  Rose  Hill  there  was  sorrowing  for 
her,  Ella  refusing  to  be  comforted  unless  she  should 
return.  Mr.  Hastings,  who  had  spent  the  day  in  the 
city,  and  did  not  come  home  until  evening,  felt  that 
something  was  wrong  the  moment  he  entered  the 
door  of  his  chamber.  The  fire  was  nearly  out,  the 
lamp  was  burning  dimly,  and  Ella  was  in  tears. 

"  What  is  it,  darling  ?  "  he  asked,  advancing  to- 
wards her ;  and  laying  her  aching  head  upon  hia 
bosom,  she  told  him  of  her  loss,  and  how  much  she 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  6/ 

missed  the  little  brown-faced  girl,  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  her. 

And  Howard  Hastings  missed  her  too — missed  the 
tones  of  her  gentle  voice,  the  soft  tread  of  her  busy 
feet,  and  more  than  all,  missed  the  sunlight  of  com- 
fort she  had  shed  over  his  home.  The  baby  missed 
her,  too  ;  for  over  her  Dora  had  acquired  an  almost 
mesmeric  influence,  and  until  midnight  her  wailing 
cry  smote  painfully  upon  the  ear  of  the  father,  who, 
before  the  morning  dawned,  had  concluded  that  Rose 
Hill  was  nothing  without  Dora  Deane.  "She  shall 
come  back,  too,"  he  said,  and  the  sooner  to  effect 
this,  he  started  immediately  after  breakfast  for  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Deane.  Very  joyfully  the  deep  blue 
eyes  of  Dora,  who  met  him  at  the  door,  looked  up 
into  his,  and  her  bright  face  flushed  with  delight 
when  he  told  her  why  he  had  come.  Both  Eugenia 
and  her  mother  were  convalescent,  and  sitting  by  the 
parlor  fire,  the  one  in  a  shilling  calico,  and  the  other 
in  a  plaid  silk  morning  gown.  At  first  Mrs.  Deane 
objected,  when  she  heard  Mr.  Hastings's  errand, 
saying,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  pride,  that  "  it  was  not 
necessary  for  her  niece  to  work  out." 

"  And  I  assure  you,  it  is  not  our  intention  to  make 
a  servant  of  her/'  answered  Mr.  Hastings.  "We 
could  not  do  otherwise  than  treat  so  near  a  relative 
of  yours  as  an  equal." 

This  last  was  well  timed,  and  quite  complacently 
Mrs.  Deane  listened,  while  he  told  her  that  if  Dora 
were  allowed  to  stay  with  them  until  hia  wife  was 
better,  she  should  be  well  cared  for,  and  he  himself 
would  superintend  her  studies,  so  she  should  lose 
nothing  by  being  out  of  school.  "  Come,  Miss  Eu- 

feiiia,"  he  continued,  "please  intercede  for  me,  and, 
assure  you,  both  Ella  and  myself  will  be  eternally 
grateful/' 


68  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

He  had  touched  the  right  cord  at  last.  Rumor 
said  that  Ella  Hastings  would  never  see  another 
summer,  and  if  before  her  death  the  husband  was 
eternally  grateful,  what  would  he  not  be  after  her 
death  ?  Then,  too,  but  the  day  before  they  had  re- 
ceived a  remittance  from  Uncle  Nat,  and  with  that 
they  could  afford  to  hire  a  servant ;  so,  when  Eugenia 
spoke,  it  was  in  favor  of  letting  "  Mr.  Hastings  have 
Dora  just  when  he  wanted  her,  if  it  would  be  any 
satisfaction  to  poor  dear  Ella  ! " 

A  while  longer  Mr.  Hastings  remained,  and  when 
at  last  he  arose  to  go,  he  was  as  sure  that  Dora  Deane 
would  again  gladden  his  home  as  he  was  next  morn- 
ing, when  from  his  library  window  he  saw  her  come 
tripping  up  the  walk,  her  cheeks  flushed  with  exer- 
cise, and  her  eyes  sparkling  with  joy,  as,  glancing 
upward,  she  saw  him  looking  down  upon  her.  In 
after  years,  when  Howard  Hastings's  cup  was  full  of 
blessings,  he  often  referred  to  that  morning,  saying 
"  he  had  seldom  experienced  a  moment  of  deeper 
thankfulness  than  the  one  when  he  welcomed  back 
again  to  his  fireside  and  his  home  the  orphan  Dora 
Deane." 


CHAPTEBX. 

ELLA. 

VERT  pleasantly  to  Dora  did  the  remainder  of 
the  winter  pass  away.  She  was  appreciated  at  last, 
and  nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  of  both  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hastings,  the  latter  of  whom  treated  her 
more  like  a  sister  than  a  servant,  while  even  Eugenia, 
who  came  often  to  Rose  Hill*  and  whose  fawning 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLB.  69 

manner  had  partially  restored  her  to  the  good 
opinion  of  the  fickle  Ella,  tried  to  treat  her  with 
a  show  of  affection,  when  she  saw  how  nmch  she 
was  respected.  Regularly  each  day  JDor<t  went  to 
the  handsome  library  where  she  recited  her  lessons 
to  Mr.  Hastings,  who  became  deeply  interested  in 
watching  the  development  of  her  fine  intellectual 
mind. 

One  thing,  however,  troubled  her.  Ella  did  not 
improve,  and  never  since  Dora  came  to  Rose  Hill 
had  she  sat  up  more  than  an  hour,  but  lay  all  day 
on  her  bed,  while  her  face  grew  white  almost  as  the 
wintry  snow,  save  when  a  bright  red  spot  burned 
upon  her  cheeks,  making  her,  as  Dora  thought,  even 
more  beautiful  than  she  had  been  in  health.  Once 
in  the  gathering  twilight,  when  they  sat  together 
alone,  she  startled  Dora  with  the  question,  **  Is  every- 
body afraid  to  die  ?  " 

"  Mother  was  not/'  answered  Dora,  and  Ella  con- 
tinued, "  But  she  was  good,  and  I  am  not.  I  have 
never  done  a  worthy  act  in  all  my  life.  Never 
thought  of  death,  or  even  looked  upon  it,  for  mother 
told  us  there  was  no  need  of  harrowing  up  our  feel- 
ings— it  would  come  soon  enough,  she  said  ;  and  to 
me,  who  hoped  to  live  so  long,  it  has  come  too  soon 
— all  too  soon  ; "  and  the  hot  tears  rained  through 
the  transparent  fingers,  clasped  BO  convulsively  over 
her  face. 

For  many  weeks  Dora  had  felt  an  undefined  pre- 
gentiment  of  coming  evil — had  seen  it  in  Ella's  failing 
health — in  the  increased  tenderness  of  Mr.  Hastings^ 
manner,  whenever  he  bent  over  the  pillow  of  his 
young  wife,  or  bore  her  in  his  arms,  as  he  sometimes 
did,  to  the  window,  that  she  might  look  out  npon 
the  garden,  and  the  winding  walks  which  she  would 
never  tread  again.  And  now  Ella  herself  had  oon- 


TO  DORA  DEANE,  OB. 

firmed  it — had  spoken  of  death  as  something  very 
near. 

"  Oh,  she  must  not  die  ! "  was  Dora's  mental  cry 
of  anguish,  as  moving  nearer  to  the  bedside  she 
grasped  the  little  Avasted  hand  which  lay  outside  the 
counterpane,  arid  this  was  her  only  answer,  for  she 
could  not  speak.  There  was  a  numbness  at  her 
heart,  a  choking  sensation  in  her  throat,  which  pre- 
vented her  utterance.  But  Ella  understood  her,  and 
returning  the  warm  pressure,  she  continued,  "  You, 
too,  have  seen  it  then,  and  know  that  I  must  die  ; 
but  oh  !  you  do  not  know  how  I  dread  the  lonesome 
darkness  of  the  grave,  or  the  world  which  lies  be- 
yond. If  somebody  would  go  with  me,  or  teach  me 
the  way,  it  wouldn't  be  so  hard." 

Poor  Ella !  Her  life  had  been  one  round  oi 
fashionable  folly,  and  now  that  the  world  was  fading 
from  her  view,  her  fainting  soul  cried  out  for  light 
to  guide  her  through  the  shadowy  valley  her  feet 
were  soon  to  tread.  And  light  came  at  last,  through 
the  word  of  God  and  the  teachings  of  the  faith- 
ful clergyman,  who  was  sent  for  at  her  request,  and 
who  came  daily  up  to  see  her.  There  was  no  more 
fear  now — no  more  terror  of  the  narrow  tomb,  foi 
there,  was  One  to  go  with  her — one  whose  arm  was 
powerful  to  save  ;  and  on  Him  Ella  learned  to  lean, 
clinging  still  with  an  undying  love  to  her  husband, 
with  whom  she  often  talked  of  the  time  when  he 
would  be  alone  and  she  be  far  away. 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  give  you  up,"  she  said  one  day, 
when  as  usual  he  was  sitting  by  her  side  ;  "  so  hard 
to  say  good-by  forever,  and  know  that  though  you 
will  miss  me  at  first,  and  mourn  for  me  too,  there 
will  come  a  time  when  another  will  take  my  place— 
another  than  Ella  can  call  you  hers  ;  but  I  am  will- 
ing," she  continued,  as  she  saw  him  about  to  speak, 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  Jl 

"willing  that  it  should  be  so.  I  have  loved  yon, 
Howard,  more  than  you  can  know,  or  I  can  ever 
tell ;  but  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  I  do  not  satisfy 
the  higher  feelings  of  your  heart ;  I  ain  not  what 
your  wife  should  be,  and  for  this  I  must  die.  Many 
a  night,  when  you  were  sleeping  at  my  side,  have  I 
lain  awake,  asking  myself  why  /,  to  whom  the  world 
was  so  beautiful  and  bright,  must  leave  it  so  soon  ; 
and  as  I  thought  over  the  events  of  our  short  married 
life,  the  answer  came  to  me,  '  I  cannot  make  you 
happy  as  you  ought  to  be,  and  for  your  sake  I  am 
taken  away.'" 

"  Oh,  Ella,  Ella  !  "  groaned  Mr.  Hastings,  laying 
his  head  beside  hers,  upon  the  pillow. 

From  his  inmost  soul  he  knew  that  what  she  said 
was  true  ;  but  for  this  he  would  not  that  she  should 
die.  She  had  been  to  him  a  gentle,  loving  wife,  the 
one  he  had  chosen  from  all  others  to  share  his  home  ; 
and  though  he  had  failed  to  find  in  her  the  com- 
panion he  had  sought,  she  was  very  dear  to  him — 
was  the  mother  of  his  child  ;  and  the  strong  man's 
heart  was  full  of  anguish  as  he  thought  of  giving 
her  up  so  soon.  Who  would  comfort  him  when  she 
was  gone  or  speak  to  him  words  of  love  ? 

Softly  the  cnamber  door  unclosed,  and  Dora  Deane 
looked  in  ;  but  seeing  them  thus  together  she  stole 
away  into  the  garden,  where  the  early  spring  grass  was 
just  starting  into  life,  and  there,  weeping  bitterly, 
she  too  prayed  that  Ella  might  not  die.  But  neither 
tears  nor  prayers  were  of  avail  to  save  her.  Still  for 
weeks  she  lingered,  and  the  soit  June  air,  stealing 
in  through  the  open  window,  had  more  than  once 
lifted  the  golden  curls  from  off  her  fading  brow,  and 
more  than  one  bouquet  of  sweet  wild  blossoms  had 
been  laid  upon  her  pillow,  ere  the  midnight  hour, 
when,  with  anguish  at  their  hearts,  Howard  Hast- 


J2  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

ings  and  Dora  Deane  watched  together  by  her  side, 
and  knew  that  she  was  dying.  There  had  been  long, 
dreary  nights  of  wakefulness,  and  the  worn-oul 
sufferer  had  asked  at  last  that  she  might  die — might 
sleep  the  dreamless  sleep  from  which  she  would 
never  waken.  And  Howard  Hastings,  as  night  after 
night  went  by,  and  the  laughing  blue  eyes  which  had 
won  his  early  love  grew  dim  with  constant  waking,  had 
felt  that  it  would  be  better  when  his  loved  one  was  at 
rest.  But  death,  however  long  expected,  is  sudden 
at  the  last,  and  so  it  was  to  him,  when  he  saw  the 
shadow  creeping  over  her  face,  which  cometh  once 
to  all.  She  would  not  suffer  them  to  rouse  the 
household,  she  would  rather  die  with  them  alone, 
she  said,  with  Dora  standing  near,  and  her  husband's 
arms  about  her  so  that  the  tones  of  his  voice  should 
be  the  last  sound  which  would  fall  upon  her  ear,  and 
Dora's  hand  the  last  to  minister  to  her  wants. 

"  I  have  loved  you  so  much,  Howard,  oh,  so 
much  ! "  and  the  white  clammy  fingers,  so  soon  to 
be  laid  away  beneath  the  summer  flowers,  strayed 
lovingly  through  the  raven  locks  of  her  husband, 
who  could  answer  only  with  his  tears,  which  fell  fast 
upon  her  face.  "  And  you  too,  Dora,"  she  continued, 
motioning  the  weeping  girl  to  advance,  "  I  have  loved 

Jou  too,  for  you  have  been  kind  to  me,  and  when 
am  gone,  you  will  live  here  still  and  care  for  my 
child,  whom  we  have  called  Fannie.  It  is  a  beautiful 
name,  Dora — your  mother's  name,  and  for  your  sake, 
I  would  fain  let  her  keep  it — but,"  turning  to  Mr. 
Hastings,  and  laying  her  hand  caressingly  upon  his 
head,  "  when  I  no  longer  live,  I  would  rather  you 
should  call  my  baby  Ella  Grey  ;  and  if  my  husband" 
— here  she  paused  to  gather  strength  for  what  she 
was  about  to  say,  and  after  a  moment  continued,  "  if, 
in  coming  years,  another  sits  beside  you  in  my  chair, 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  73 

and  the  voices  of  other  children  shall  call  you  father, 
you  will  not  forget  your  first-born,  I  know,  but  will 
love  her  better,  and  think,  perchance,  the  oftener 
of  me,  if  she  bears  my  name,  for,  however,  truly  you 
may  hereafter  love,  it  was  Ella  Grey  that  won  your 
first  affection." 

Again  she  paused,  and  there  was  no  sound  heard  in 
the  chamber  of  death,  save  the  sobs  of  those  about  to 
be  bereaved,  and  the  faint  rustling  of  the  leaves  with- 
out, which  were  gently  moved  by  the  night  wind. 

"Bring  me  my  baby,"  she  said  at  last ;  and  Dora 
laid  the  sleeping  child  in  the  arms  of  the  yonng 
mother,  who,  clasping  it  fondly  to  her  bosom, 
breathed  over  it  a  dying  mother's  blessing,  and  with 
a  dying  mother's  tears  baptized  it  Ella  Grey. 

There  was  a  long,  deep  silence  then,  and  when  at 
last  Howard  Hastings  lifted  up  his  head  from  the 
pillow  where  it  had  been  resting,  and  Dora  Deane 
came  timidly  to  his  side,  they  gazed  together  on  the 
face  of  the  sweetly  sleeping  dead. 


CHAPTEB  XL 

THE  HOUSE  OP  MOUEKIITO. 

ELLA  HASTINGS  was  dead.  The  deep-toned  bell 
proclaimed  it  to  the  people  of  Dunwood,  who,  count- 
ing the  nineteen  strokes,  sighed  that  yone  so  young 
ahould  die.  The  telegraphic  wires  carried  it  to  her 
childhood's  home,  in  the  far-off  city  ;  and  while  her 
tears  were  dropping  fast  for  the  first  dead  of  her  chil- 
dren, the  fashionable  mother  did  not  forget  to  have 
her  mourning  in  the  most  expensive  and  becoming 
style.  The  servants  in  the  kitchen  whispered  it  one 


74  liORA  DEANE,  OR, 

to  the  other,  treading  softly  and  speaking  low,  as  if 
aught  could  disturb  the  slumber  of  her  who  lay  so 
motionless  and  still,  unmindful  of  the  balmy  sum- 
mer air  which  kissed  her  marble  cheek.  The  grief- 
Btricken  husband  repeated  it  again  and  again  as  he 
eat  by  her  side  in  the  darkened  room  ;  and  only  they 
who  have  felt  it,  can  know  with  what  a  crushing 
weight  they  fell  upon  his  heart,  the  three  words — 
"  She  is  dead  ! " 

Yes,  Ella  was  dead,  and  Eugenia  Deane,  with  hyp- 
jcritical  tears,  upon  her  cheek,  gathered  fresh,  white 
•rosebuds,  and  twining  them  in  the  golden  curls 
idiich  shaded  the  face  of  the  beautiful  dead,  dared 
»ven  thereto  think  that  Howard  Hastings  was  free; 
and  as  she  saw  the  silent  grief  of  the  stricken  'man, 
wno,  with  his  head  upon  the  table,  sat  hour  after 
hour,  unmindful  of  the  many  who  came  to  look  on 
wha-o  had  been  his  wife,  her  lip  curled  with  "scorn, 
and  sue  marveled  that  one  so  frivolous  as  Ella  should 
be  so  deeply  mourned.  Once  she  ventured  to  speak, 
asking  him  some  trivial  thing  concerning  the  ar- 
rangement of  affairs,  and  without  looking  up,  he 
answered,  "  Do  as  you  like,  until  her  mother  comes. 
She  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

So,  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  Eugenia  flitted 
from  the  parfor  to  the  chamber  of  death,  from  the 
chamber  of  death  to  the  kitchen,  and  from  the 
kitchen  back  again  to  the  parlor,  ordering  the  ser- 
vants, admitting  visitors,  and  between  times  scolding 
Dora  for  "  bemg  so  foolish  as  to  cry  herself  sick  fora 
person  who,  of  course,  cared  nothing  for  her,  except 
as  a  waiter  !  " 

Since  the  night  of  her  mother's  death,  Dora's  heart 
had  not  been  half  so  sore  with  pain.  The  girlish 
Ella  had  been  very  dear  to  her,  and  the  tears  she 
shed  were  genuine.  To  no  one  else  would  the  baby 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  7$ 

go,  and  after  dinner  was  over,  the  dinner  at  which 
Eugenia  presided,  and  of  which  Mr.  Hastings  could 
not  be  induced  to  partake,  she  went  into  the  garden 
with  her  little  charge,  seating  herself  in  a  pleasant 
summer-house,  which  had  been  Ella's  favorite  resort. 
It  was  a  warm,  drowsy  afternoon,  and  at  last,  worn 
out  with  weeping,  and  the  fatigue  of  the  last  night's 
watching,  she  fell  asleep,  as  the  baby  had  done  be- 
fore. Not  long  had  she  sat  thus,  when  Mr.  Hastings, 
too,  came  down  the  graveled  walk,  and  stood  at  the 
arbor  door.  The  constant  bustling  in  and  out  of 
Eugenia  annoyed  him,  and  wishing  to  be  alone,  he 
had  come  out  into  the  open  air,  which  he  felt  would 
do  him  good.  When  his  eye  fell  on  Dora,  who  wa8 
too  soundly  sleeping  to  be  easily  aroused,  he  mur- 
mured, "  Poor  child  !  she  is  wearied  with  so  many 
wakeful  nights  ; "  then  fearing  lest  the  slender  arma 
should  relax  their  hold  and  drop  the  babe,  he  took  it 
gently  from  her,  and  folding  it  to  his  bosom,  sat 
down  by  her  side,  so  tha.t  her  drooping  head  could 
rest  upon  his  shoulder. 

For  two  long  hours  she  slept,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  baby's  waxen  fingers  gave  a  vigorous  pull  to  her 
short  thick  hair,  that  she  awoke,  feeling  greatly  sur- 
prised when  she  saw  Mr.  Hastings  sitting  near. 

"  I  found  you  asleep/"  he  said,  by  way  of  explana- 
tion, "  and  knowing  how  tired  you  were,  I  gave  yon 
my  arm  for  a  pillow  ;"  then,  as  the  baby  wished  to 
go  to  her,  he  gave  it  up,  himself  going  slowly  back 
to  the  lonesome  house,  from  which  Ella  was  gone 
forever. 

The  next  morning,  the  mother  and  her  three 
youngest  daughters,  all  draped  in  deepest  black,  ar- 
rived at  Rose  Hill  prepared  to  find  fault  with  every- 
thing which  savored  at  all  of  the  "  horrid  country." 
Even  Eugenia  sank  into  r  ^entity  in  the  presence  ol 


J6  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

the  cold  city-bred  woman,  who  ignored  her  existence 
entirely,  notwithstanding  that  she  loudly  and  repeat- 
edly expressed  so  much  affection  for  the  deceased. 

"  Perhaps  your  daughter  wrote  to  yon  of  me  (Misa 
Deane);  we  were  great  friends/'  she  said,  when  they 
stood  together  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  and  Mrs. 
Grey's  emotions  had  somewhat  subsided. 

"  Possibly ;  but  I  never  remember  names,"  re* 
turned  the  haughty  lady,  without  raising  her  eyes. 

"There  are  so  few  people  here  with  whom  she 
could  be  intimate,"  continued  Eugenia,  "  that  I  saw 
a  great  deal  of  her." 

But  to  this  Mrs.  Grey  made  no  reply,  except 
to  ask,  "  Whose  idea  was  it  dressing  Ella  in  this 
plain  muslin  wrapper,  when  she  had  so  many  hand- 
some dresses  ?  But  it  don't  matter,"  she  continued, 
as  Eugenia  was  about  to  disclaim  all  participation  in 
that  affair.  "  It  don't  matter,  for  no  one  here  ap- 
preciates anything  better,  I  dare  say.  "Where's  the 
baby  ?  I  haven't  seen  that  yet,"  she  asked  as  they 
were  descending  the  stairs. 

"  She's  with  Dora,  I  presume,"  answered  Eugenia ; 
and  Mrs.  Grey  continued — 

"  Oh,  the  nurse  girl,  whom  Ella  wrote  so  touch 
about.  Send  her  in." 

But  Eugenia  was  not  one  to  obey  orders  so  per- 
emptorily given,  and,  for  a  long  time,  Madam  Grey 
and  her  three  daughters  waited  the  appearance  of 
the  nurse  girl,  who,  not  knowing  that  they  were 
in  the  parlor,  entered  it  at  last,  of  her  own  accord, 
and  stood  before  them  with  such  a  quiet,  self-possessed 
dignity,  that  even  Mrs.  Grey  treated  her  with  far 
more  respect  than  she  had  the  assuming  Eugenia, 
whose  rule,  for  the  time  being,  was  at  an  end. 
Everything  had  been  done  wrong  ;  and  when  Mr. 
Hastings  spoke  of  having  Ella  buried  at  the  foot  of 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE. 

the  spacious  garden,  in  a  quiet,  grassy  spot,  where 
trees  of  evergreen  were  growing,  she  held  up  her 
hands  in  amazement  at  the  idea  that  her  daughter 
should  rest  elsewhere  than  in  the  fashionable  pre- 
cincts of  Greenwood.  So  Mr.  Hastings  yielded,  and 
on  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  Dora  watched  with 
blinding  tears  the  long  procession  winding  slowly 
down  the  avenue,  and  out  into  the  highway  towards 
the  village  depot,  where  the  shrieking  of  the  engine, 
and  the  rattling  of  the  car  bell  would  be  the  only 
requiem  tolled  for  Ella  Hastings,  as  she  was  borne 
rapidly  away  from  a  spot  which  had  been  her  home 
for  one  brief  year. 

The  little  Ella  was  in  Dora's  arms,  and  as  she,  too, 
saw  the  handsome  steeds  and  moving  carriages,  she 
laughed  aloud,  and  patted  the  window-pane  with  her 
tiny  baby  hands.  Dear  little  one  !  she  did  not  know 
— would  never  know,  how  much  she  was  bereaved ; 
but  Dora  knew,  and  her  tears  fell  all  the  faster  when 
she  thought  that  she,  too,  must  leave  her,  for  her 
aunt  had  said  to  Mr.  Hastings,  that  after  the  funeral 
Dora  must  go  home,  adding,  that  Mrs.  Leah  would 
take  care  of  Ella  until  his  return.  So,  when  the 
hum  of  voices  and  the  tread  of  feet  had  ceased,  when 
the  shutters  were  closed  and  the  curtains  dropped, 
Eugenia  came  for  her  to  go,  while  Mrs.  Leah  came 
to  take  the  child,  who  refused  to  leave  Dora,  clinging 
BO  obstinately  to  her  neck,  and  crying  so  pitifully, 
that  even  Eugenia  was  touched,  and  bade  her  cousin 
remain  until  Mr.  Hastings  came  home.  So  Dora 
stayed,  and  the  timid  servants,  as  they  sat  together 
in  the  shadowy  twilight,  felt  not  half  so  lonely  when 
they  heard  her  gentle  voice  singing  the  motherless 
babe  to  sleep. 


78  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 


CHAPTER  XIL 

WAYS  AND  MEANS. 

WITH  all  the  showy  parade  and  empty  pomp  of  a 
fashionable  city  funeral,  Ella  was  laid  to  rest  in 
Greenwood,  and,  in  their  darkened  parlor,  arrayed 
in  the  latest  style  of  mourning,  the  mother  and 
sisters  received  the  sympathy  of  their  friends,  who 
hoped  they  would  try  to  be  reconciled,  and  were  so 
sorry  they  could  not  now  go  to  the  Springs,  as  usual. 
In  another  parlor,  too,  far  more  elegant  but  less 
showy  than  that  of  Mrs.  Grey,  another  mother  wept 
for  her  only  son,  speaking  to  him  blessed  words  of 
comfort  in  his  bereavement,  and  telling  him  of  the 
better  world,  where  again  he  would  meet  the  loved 
and  lost.  Once  she  ventured  to  hope  that  he  would 
come  back  again  to  her  fireside,  now  that  his  was 
desolate,  but  he  refused.  Rose  Hill  henceforth  would 
be  his  home,  and  though  it  was  lonely  and  drear, 
he  must  in  a  few  days  go  back  to  it ;  for  the  sake  of 
the  little  one,  doubly  dear  to  him  now  that  its  mother 
was  gone.  Oh,  how  sad  was  that  journey  back,  and 
what  a  sense  of  desolation  came  over  him,  as  he  drew 
near  his  home,  and  knew  that  Ella  was  not  there  I—- 
that never  more  would  she  come  forth  to  meet  him — 
never  again  would  her  little  feet  stray  through  the 
winding  walks,  or  her  fairy  fingers  pluck  the  flowers 
she  had  loved  so  well. 

It  was  near  the  first  of  July.  The  day  had  been 
rainy  and  the  evening  was  dark  and  cold.  Wet, 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  79 

chilly,  and  forlorn,  he  entered  the  hall  and  ascended 
the  stairs,  but  he  could  not  that  night  go  to  the  old 
room  and  find  it  empty ;  and  he  was  passing  on  to  his 
library,  when  the  sound  of  some  one  singing  made 
him  pause,  while  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  his  veins, 
for  he  knew  that  childish  voice,  knew  it  was  Dora 
Deane  singing  to  his  child.  Another  moment  and 
he  stood  Avithin  the  room  where  Ella  had  died.  All 
traces  of  sickness  and  death  had  been  removed,  and 
everything  was  in  perfect  order.  Vases  of  flowers 
adorned  the  mantel  and  the  stands,  seeming  little 
out  of  place  with  the  rain  which  beat  against  the 
window,  and  the  fire  which  burned  within  the  grate, 
In  her  crib  lay  Fannie,  and  sitting  near  was  Dora 
Deane,  her  rich  auburn  hair  combed  smoothly  back, 
and  the  great  kindness  of  her  heart  shining  out  from 
the  depths  of  her  clear  blue  eyes. 

There  are  people  whose  very  presence  brings  with 
it  a  feeling  of  comfort,  and  such  a  one  was  Dora. 
Mr.  Hastings  had  not  expected  to  find  her  there ; 
and  the  sight  of  her  bright  face,  though  it  did  not 
remove  the  heavy  pain  from  his  heart,  took  from  him 
the  sense  of  utter  desolation,  the  feeling  of  being 
alone  in  his  sorrow. 

"  Dora,"  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  her  side,  "  I  did 
not  expect  this  !  How  happened  you  to  stay  ?  " 

"  The  baby  cried  so  hard,"  answered  Dora,  "  that 
Eugenia  told  me  I  might  remain  until  your  return." 

"  It  was  very  kind  and  thoughtful  in  her,  and  I 
thank  her  very  much.  Will  you  tell  her  so  ? "  he 
said,  involuntarily  laying  his  hand  on  Dora's  head. 

Divesting  himself  at  last  of  his  damp  overcoat, 
and  donning  the  warm  dressing  gown,  which  Dora 
brought  him,  he  sat  down  before  the  fire,  and  listened 
while  she  told  him  how  she  had  stayed  in  that  room 
and  kept  it  in  order  for  him,  because  ehe  thought  it 


8O  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

would  not  seem  half  BO  bad  to  him  if  he  came  into  it 

at  once  and  found  it  comparatively  pleasant. 

"  You  are  a  very  thoughtful  girl,"  he  said,  when 
she  had  finished,  "  and  I  hope  I  shall  some  time  re- 
pay you  for  your  kindness  to  myself  and  Ella." 

But  Dora  did  not  wish  for  any  pay,  and  at  the 
mention  of  Ella's  name  her  tears  burst  forth  afresh. 
The  next  morning,  when  news  of  Mr.  Hastings's  re- 
turn was  received  at  Locust  Grove,  Eugenia  at  once 
suggested  that  Dora  be  sent  for  immediately.  "  It 
did  not  look  well,"  she  said,  "for  a  good  sized 
girl,  fourteen  and  a  half  years  of  age,  to  be  staying 
in  the  same  house  with  a  widower.  Folks  would 
talk!" 

And  growing  suddenly  very  careful  of  her  cousin's 
reputation,  she  dispatched  a  note  to  Rose  Hill  request- 
ing her  immediate  return.  Not  that  she  really 
thought  there  would  be  any  impropriety  in  Dora's 
staying  with  Mr.  Hastings,  but  because  she  had  a 
plan  by  which  she  hoped  herself  to  see  him  every 
day.  And  in  this  plan  she  succeeded.  As  she  had 
expected,  her  note  brought  down  Mr.  Hastings  him- 
self, who,  on  his  child's  account,  objected  to  parting 
with  Dora,  unless  it  were  absolutely  necessary. 

"  She  is  as  well  off  there  as  here,"  said  he  ;  "and 
why  can't  she  stay  ?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  she  should  take  care  of  little 
Ella, "answered  the  previously  instructed  Mrs.  Deane, 
who,  in  a  measure,  shared  her  daughter's  ambitions 
designs  ;  "  but  it  must  be  done  here,  if  at  all.  I 
can't  suffer  her  to  remain  alone  with  those  gossiping 
servants." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  exclaimed  Eugenia,  speaking  as  if 
this  were  the  first  she  had  heard  of  it.  "  That  is  a 
good  idea*  It  will  be  delightful  to  have  the  dear 
little  creature  here,  and  BO  much  better  for  her  too 


THE  BAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  8l 

fa  case  of  croup,  or  anything  like  that,  to  be  with  an 
experienced  person  like  mother  I" 

"  But/'  said  Mr.  Hastings,  "  this  would  keep 
Dora  entirely  from  her  studies,  and  that  ought  not 
to  be." 

"It  need  not/'  hastily  interrupted  Eugenia. 
"  She  can  go  to  school  every  day,  for  nothing  will 
give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  take  care  of  our 
dear  Ella's  child  ;"  and  the  pocket-handkerchief 
went  up  to  her  face  to  conceal  the  tears  which  might 
have  been  there,  but  probably  were  not. 

It  was  finally  arranged,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days  the  parlor  of  Locust  Grove  was  echoing  some- 
times to  the  laughter,  and  sometimes  to  the  scream* 
ing,  of  little  Ella  Grey,  who,  from  some  unaccount- 
able freak  of  babyhood,  conceived  a  violent  fancy  for 
Eugenia,  to  whom  she  would  go  quite  as  readily  as  to 
Dora,  whose  daily  absence  at  school  she  at  last  did 
not  mind.  Regularly  each  day,  and  sometimes  twice 
a  day,  Mr.  Hastings  came  down  to  Locust  Grove, 
and  his  manner  was  very  kind  toward  Eugenia,  when 
he  found  her,  as  he  often  did,  with  his  baby  sleeping 
in  her  arms.  He  did  not  know  how  many  times,  at 
his  approach,  it  was  snatched  from  the  cradle  by 
Eugenia,  who,  in  reality,  was  not  remarkably  fond 
of  baby-tending,  and  who,  in  the  absence  of  the 
father,  left  the  child  almost  wholly  to  the  care  of  her 
mother  and  sister.  Management,  however,  was 
everything,  and  fancying  she  had  found  the  shortest 
avenue  to  Mr.  Hastings's  heart,  she,  in  his  presence, 
fondled,  and  petted  and  played  with  his  cnild,  tak- 
ing care  occasionally  to  hint  of  neglect  on  the  part  of 
Dora,  whom  he  now  seldom  saw  as,  at  the  hour  of 
his  calling,  she  was  generally  in  school.  It  was  by 
Buch  means  as  this  that  Eugenia  sought  to  increase 
Mr.  Hastiugs's  regard  for  herself,  and  in  a  measure 
6 


82  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

•  che  succeeded  ;  for  though  his  respect  for  Dora  was 
nndiminished,  he  could  not  conceal  from  himself  the 
fact  that  Eugenia  was  very  ^agreeable,  very  interest- 
ing and  very  kind  to  Ms  daughter  I 

As  the  autumn  advanced,  and  the  cold  rainy 
weather  precluded  out-door  exercise,  it  was  but 
natural  that  he  should  spend  much  of  his  time  at 
Locust  Grove,  where  his  tastes  were  carefully  studied, 
his  favorite  books  read,  and  his  favorite  authors  dis- 
cussed, while  Eugenia's  handsome  black  eyes  smiled 
a  welcome  when  he  came,  and  drooped  pensively  be- 
neath her  long  eyelashes  when  he  went  away.  Thus 
the  autumn  and  the  winter  passed,  and  when  the 
Bering  had  come,  the  village  of  Dunwood  was  rife 
with  rumors  concerning  the  attraction  which  drew 
Mr.  Hastings  so  often  to  Locust  Grove ;  some  sin- 
cerely pitying  him  if,  indeed,  he  entertained  a  serious 
thought  of  making  Eugenia  Deane  his  wife,  while 
others  severely  censured  him  for  having  so  soon  for- 
gotten one  whose  grave  had  not  been  made  a  twelve- 
month. But  he  had  not  forgotten,  and  almost  every 
hour  of  his  life  was  her  loved  name  upon  his  lips,  and 
the  long  golden  tress  his  own  hand  had  severed  from 
her  head  was  guarded  as  his  choicest  treasure,  whil* 
the  dark  hours  of  the  night  bore  witness  to  his  lonely 
grief.  And  it  was  to  escape  this  loneliness — to  for- 
get for  a  brief  time  the  sad  memories  of  the  past— 
that  he  went  so  often  to  Locust  Grove,  where  as  yet 
his  child  was  the  greater  attraction,  though  he  could 
not  be  insensible  to  the  charms  of  Eugenia  who  spared 
no  pains  to  interest  him  in  herself. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  many  an 
hour  she  sat  patiently  at  the  piano,  seeking  to  perfect 
herself  in  a  difficult  piece,  with  which  she  thought  to 
surprise  him.  But  nothing,  however  admirably  exe- 
cuted, could  sound  well  upon  her  old-fashioned  in- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  83 

Btrument,  and  how  to  procure  a  new  one  was  the  daily 
subject  of  her  meditations.  Occasionally,  as  she  rem- 
embered the  beautiful  rosewood  piano  standing  useless 
and  untouched  in  the  parlors  of  Rose  Hill,  something 
whispered  her  to  wait  "and  it  would  yet  be  hers." 
But  this  did  not  satisfy  her  present  desire,  for  aside 
from  the  sweet  sounds,  with  which  she  hoped  to  en- 
trance Mr.  Hastings,  was  the  wish  to  make  him  think 
them  much  wealthier  than  they  were.  From  one  or 
two  circumstances,  she  had  gathered  the  impression 
that  ho  thought  them  poor,  and,  judging  him  by 
herself,  she  fancied  her  chances  for  becoming  Mrs. 
Hastings  3d,  would  be  greatly  increased  if  by  any 
means  he  could  be  made  to  believe  her  comparatively 
rich.  As  one  means  of  effecting  this,  she  most  and 
would  have  a  new  piano,  costing  not  less  than  four 
hundred  dollars.  But  how  to  procure  the  money 
was  the  question  ;  the  remittance  from  Uncle  Nat, 
which  had  come  on  the  first  day  of  January,  was  al- 
ready half  gone,  and  she  could  not,  as  she  had  once 
done  before,  make  Dora's  head  keep  her  out  of  the 
difficulty.  At  last,  a  new  idea  suggested  itself,  and 
springing  to  her  feet  she  exclaimed  aloud,  for  she  was 
alone,  "  I  have  it ;  strange  I  didn't  think  of  that  be- 
fore. I'll  write  to  the  old  man,  and  tell  him  that  ae 
Dora  is  now  fifteen,  we  would  gladly  send  her  away 
to  school,  if  we  had  the  means,  but  our  expenses  are 
so  great  it  is  impossible,  unless  the  money  comes  from 
him.  And  he'll  do  it  too,  the  old  miser  !  — for  in  his 
first  letter  he  said  he  would  increase  the  allowance  as 
Dora  grew  older." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  drew  out  her 
writing-desk,  and  commenced  a  letter  to  her  "  dearest 
Uncle  Nathaniel/'  feelingly  describing  to  him  their 
straitened  circumstances,  and  the  efforts  of  herself 
and  her  sister  to  keep  the  family  in  necessaries,  which 


84  DORA  DEANB,  OR, 

they  were  enabled  to  do  very  comfortably  with  the 
addition  of  the  allowance  he  so  generously  sent  them 
every  year.  But  they  wished  now  to  send  Dora  to 
school,  to  see  if  anything  could  be  made  of  her  !  She 
had  improved  latterly,  and  they  really  hoped  a  change 
of  scene  would  benefit  her.  For  Dora's  sake,  then, 
would  "her  dear  uncle  be  so  kind  as  to  send  them, 
on  the  receipt  of  that  letter,  such  a  sum  as  he  thought 
best.  If  so,  he  would  greatly  oblige  his  loving 
niece/' 

"  There  I  That  will  do,"  she  said,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair,  and  laughing  as  she  thought  what  her 
mother  and  Alice  would  say,  if  they  knew  what  she 
had  done.  "But  they  needn't  know  it,"  she  con- 
tinued aloud,  "  until  the  money  comes,  and  then 
they  can't  help  themselves." 

Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  if  Dora  herself  were 
to  send  some  message,  the  coming  of  the  money 
might  be  surer ;  and  calling  her  cousin  into  the  room, 
she  said  : 

"  I  am  about  writing  to  old  Uncle  Nat— have  you 
any  word  or  anything  to  send  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Dora.  "  Give  him  my  love, 
and  tell  him  how  much  I  wish  he  would  come  home 
— and  stay  I "  she  added,  leaving  the  room,  and  soon 
returning  with  a  lock  of  soft  brown  hair,  which  she 
laid  upon  the  table.  "  Give  him  that,  and  tell  him 
it  was  mother's." 

Had  a  serpent  started  suddenly  into  life  before 
Eugenia,  she  could  not  have  turned  whiter  than  she 
did  at  the  sight  of  that  hair.  It  brought  vividly  to 
mind  the  shadowy  twilight,  the  darkness  in  the  cor- 
ners, and  the  terror  which  came  over  her  on  that 
memorable  night,  when  she  had  thought  to  steal 
Dora's  treasure.  Soon  recovering  her  composure, 
however,  she  motioned  her  cousin  from  the  room,  and, 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  8$ 

resuming  her  pen,  said  to  herself,  "  I  shan't  write 
all  that  nonsense  about  his  coming  home,  for  nobody 
wants  him  here  ;  but  the  love  and  the  hair  may  as 
Well  go." 

Then,  as  she  saw  how  much  of  the  latter  Dora  had 
brought,  she  continued,  "There's  no  need  of  send- 
ing all  this.  It  would  make  beautiful  hair  ornaments, 
and  I  mean  to  keep  a  part  of  it  ;  Dora  won't  care,  of 
course,  and  I  shall  tell  her." 

Dividing  off  a  portion  of  the  hair  for  her  own  nse, 
Bhe  laid  it  aside,  and  then  in  a  postscript  wrote, 
"  Dora  sends  " — here  she  paused  ;  and  thinking  that 
"Dora's  love  "  would  please  the  old  man  too  much, 
and  possibly  give  him  too  favorable  an  opinion  of  his 
niece,  she  crossed  out  the  "  sends,"  and  wrote, 
"  Dora  wishes  to  be  remembered  to  you,  and  sends 
for  your  acceptance  a  lock  of  her  mother's  hair." 

Thus  was  the  letter  finished,  and  the  next  mail 
which  left  Dunwood  bore  it  on  its  way  to  India, 
Eugenia  little  thinking  how  much  it  would  influence 
her  whole  future  life. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

U2TCLB  NAT. 

IT  was  a  glorious  moonlight  night,  and,  like  gleams 
of  burnished  silver,  the  moonbeams  flashed  from  the 
lofty  domes  and  minarets  of  Calcutta,  or  shone  like 
sparkling  gems  6n  the  sleeping  waters  of  the  bay. 
It  was  a  night  when  the  Hindoo  lover  told  his  tale 
to  the  dusky  maiden  at  his  side,  and  the  soldier, 
wearing  the  scarlet  uniform,  talked  to  his  blue-eyed 


86  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

bride  of  the  home  across  the  waters,  iffo-tch  she  had 
left  to  be  with  him. 

On  this  night,  too,  an  old  man  in  his  silent  room, 
8at  thinking  of  his  home  far  beyond  the  shores  of 
"  Merrie  England."  Near  him  lay  a  letter,  Eugenia's 
letter,  which  was  just  received.  He  had  not  opened 
it  yet,  for  the  sight  of  it  had  carried  him  back  across 
the  Atlantic  wave,  and  again  he  saw,  in  fancy,  the 
granite  hills  which  had  girded  his  childhood's  home 
— the  rock  where  he  had  played — the  tree  where  he 
had  carved  his  name,  and  the  rushing  mountain 
stream,  which  ran  so  swiftly  past  the  red  house  in 
the  valley — the  home  where  he  was  born,  and  where 
had  come  to  him  the  heart  grief  which  had  made 
him  the  strange,  eccentric  being  he  was.  Thoughts 
of  the  dead  were  with  him,  too,  to-night,  and  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  broad,  rough  hands,  he  thought 
of,  licr,  whose  winsome  smile  and  gentle  ways  had 
woven  around  his  heart  a  mighty  and  undying  love, 
such  as  few  men  ever  felt.  Of  Dora,  too,  he  thought 
—Dora,  whom  he  had  never  seen — and  his  heart 
yearned  towards  her  with  a  deep  tenderness,  because 
his  Fannie  had  been  her  mother. 

"  I  should  love  her,  I  know,"  he  said,  "  even 
though  she  were  cold-hearted  and  stupid  as  they 
say  ; "  then,  as  he  remembered  the  letter,  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  will  open  it,  for  it  may  have  tidings  of 
the  child." 

The  seal  was  broken,  the  letter  unfolded,  and  a  tress 
of  shining  hair  dropped  on  the  old  man's  hand,  cling- 
ing lovingly,  as  it  were,  about  his  fingers,  while  a 
low,  deep  cry  broke  the  stillness  of  the  room.  He 
knew  it  in  a  moment — knew  it  was  Fannie* &  hair — the 
same  he  had  so  oft  caressed  when  she  was  but  a  little 
girl  and  he  a  grown-up  man.  It  was  Fannie's  hair, 
come  to  him  over  land  and  sea,  and  his  eyes  grew 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  8/ 

dim  with  tears,  which  rained  over  his  thin,  dark 
face  as  he  kissed  again  and  again  the  precious  boon, 
dearer  far  to  him  than  the  golden  ore  of  India. 
"  Fannie's  hair  ! "  very  softly  he  repeated  the  words, 
holding  it  up  to  the  moonlight,  and  then  turning  it 
toward  the  lamp,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he 
really  had  it  in  his  possession.  "  Why  was  it  never 
sent  before  ?"  he  said  at  last,  "  or  why  was  it  sent 
at  all  ?  "  and  taking  up  the  letter,  he  read  it  through, 
lingering  long  over  the  postsaript,  and  grieving  that 
Dora's  message,  the  first  he  had  ever  received,  should 
be  comparatively  so  cold. 

"  Why  couldn't  she  have  sent  her  love  to  her  poor 
old  uncle,  who  has  nothing  in  the  wide,  wide  world  to 
love  save  this  one  lock  of  hair  !  God  bless  you,  Dora 
Deane,  for  sending  that,"  and  again  he  raised  it  to 
his  lips,  saying  as  he  did  so,"  And  she  shall  have  the 
money,  too,  aye,  more  than  Eugenia  asked ;  one 
golden  dollar  for  every  golden  hair,  will  be  a  meet 
return  1 "  And  the  old  man  laughed  aloud  at  the 
novel  idea,  which  no  one  but  himself  would  have 
conceived. 

It  was  a  long,  weary  task,  the  counting  of  those 
hairs  ;  for  more  than  once,  when  he  paused  in  hia 
work  to  think  of  her  whose  head  they  once  adorned, 
he  forgot  how  many  had  been  told,  and  patiently 
began  again,  watching  carefully,  through  blinding 
tears,  to  see  that  none  were  lost,  for  he  would  not 
that  one  should  escape  him.  It  was  strange  how 
childish  the  strong  man  became,  counting  those 
threads  of  hair  ;  and  when  at  last  the  labor  was  com- 
pleted, he  wept  because  there  were  no  more.  Fifteen 
hundred  dollars  seemed  too  small  a  sum  to  pay  for 
what  would  givo  him  so  much  joy  ;  and  lie  mourned 
that  the  tress  had  not  been  larger,  quite  as  much  aa 
did  Eugenia,  when  she  heard  of  his  odd  fancy. 


88  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

The  moon  had  long  since  ceased  to  shine  on  the 

Bleeping  city,  and  day  was  breaking  in  the  east,  ere 
Nathaniel  Deane  arose  from  the  table  where  he  had 
eat  the  livelong  night,  gloating  over  his  treasure, 
and  writing  a  letter  which  now  lay  upon  the  table. 
It  was  addressed  to  Dora,  and  in  it  he  told  her  what 
be  had  done,  blessing  her  for  sending  him  that  lock 
of  hair,  and  saying  that  the  sight  of  it  made  his 
withered  heart  grow  young  and  green  again,  as  it 
was  in  the  happy  days  when  he  so  madly  loved  her 
mother.  Then  he  told  her  how  he  yearned  to  be- 
hoLl  her,  to  look  upon  her  face  and  see  which  she 
was  like,  her  father  or  her  mother.  Both  were 
very  dear  to  him,  and  for  their  sake  he  loved  their 
child. 

"  No  one  will  ever  call  me  father,"  he  wrote,  "  and 
I  am  lonely  in  my  Indian  home,  lined  all  over,  as  it 
is,  with  gold,  and  sometimes,  Dora,  since  I  have 
heard  of  you,  orphaned  thus  early,  I  have  thought 
I  would  return  to  America,  and  seeking  out  some 
pleasant  spot,  would  build  a  home  for  you  and  me. 
And  this  I  would  do,  were  I  sure  that  I  was  wanted 
there — that  you  would  be  happier  with  me  than  with 
your  aunt  and  cousins.  Are  they  kind  to  you,  my 
child  ?  Sometimes,  in  my  reveries,  I  have  fancied 
they  were  not — have  dreamed  of  a  girlish  face,  with 
locks  like  that  against  which  my  old  heart  is  beating, 
and  eyes  of  deep  dark  blue,  looking  wistfully  at  me, 
across  the  waste  of  waters,  and  telling  me  of  cruel 
neglect  and  indifference.  Were  this  indeed  so,  not 
all  India  would  keep  me  a  moment  from  your  side. 

"  Write  to  me,  Dora,  and  tell  me  of  yourself,  that 
I  may  judge  something  of  your  character.  Tell  me, 
too,  if  you  ever  think  of  the  lonesome  old  man,  who, 
each  night  of  his  life,  remembers  you  in  his  prayers, 
asking  that  if  oil  earth  he  may  ne^er  look  on  Fannift 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  &) 

ehfld,  lie  may  at  last  meet  and  know  her  in  the  better 
land.  And  now  farewell,  my  daughter,  mine  by 
adoption,  if  from  no  other  cause. 

"  Write  to  me  soon,  and  tell  me  if  at  home  there 
is  one  who  would  kindly  welcome  back 

"  Your  rough  old 
"  UNCLE  NAT." 

"  Shell  answer  that,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  read 
it  over.  "  She'll  tell  me  to  come  home/'  and,  like  a 
very  child,  his  heart  bounded  with  joy  as  he  thought 
of  breathing  again  the  air  of  the  western  world. 

The  letter  was  sent,  and  with  it  we,  too,  will  re- 
turn to  America,  and  going  backward  for  a  little, 
take  up  our  story  at  a  period  three  months  subse- 
quent to  the  time  when  Eugenia  wrote  to  Uncle 
Nat. 


CHAPTEB  XIV. 

MANAGEMENT. 

year  had  passed  away  since  the  night 
Ella  Hastings  died,  and  alone  in  his  chamber  the 
husband  was  musing  of  the  past,  and  holding,  us  it 
were,  communion  with  the  departed,  who  seemed 
this  night  to  be  so  near  that  once  he  said  aloud, 
"  Ella,  are  you  with  me  now  ? "  But  to  his  call 
there  came  no  answer,  save  the  falling  of  the  sum- 
mer rain  ;  and  again,  with  his  face  upon  thv  pillow, 
lust  as  it  had  lain  one  year  ago,  he  asked  li  itself  if 
to  the  memory  of  the  dead  he  had  thus  li  iig  been 
faithful ;  if  no  thought  of  another  had  mu  gled  with 


QO  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

his  love  for  her ;  and  was  it  to  ascertain  this  that 
she  had  come  back  to  him  to-night,  for  he  felt  that 
she  was  there,  and  again  he  spoke  aloud,  *'  I  have 
not  forgotten  you,  darling  ;  but  I  am  lonesome,  oh, 
so  lonesome,  and  the  world  looks  dark  and  drear. 
Lay  your  hand  upon  my  heart,  dear  Ella,  and  you 
will  feel  its  weight  of  pain." 

But  why  that  sudden  lifting  of  the  head,  as  if  a 
spirit  hand  had  indeed  touched  him  with  its  icy 
fingers  ?  Howard  Hastings  was  not  afraid  of  the 
dead,  and  it  was  not  this  which  made  him  start  so 
nervously  to  his  feet.  His  ear  had  caught  the 
sound  of  a  light  footstep  in  the  hall  below,  and 
coming  at  that  hour  of  a  stormy  night,. it  startled 
him,  for  he  remembered  that  the  outer  door  had 
been  left  unlocked.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  up 
the  winding  stairs,  and  on  through  the  silent  hall, 
until  it  reached  the  threshold  of  his  chamber,  where 
it  ceased,  while  a  low  voice  spoke  his  name. 

In  an  instant  he  was  at  the  door,  standing  face  to 
face  with  Dora  Deane,  whose  head  was  uncovered, 
and  whose  hair  was  drenched  wi*,h  the  rain. 

"  Dora/'  he  exclaimed,  "  how  came  you  here  and 
wherefore  have  you  come  ?  " 

"  Your  child ! "  was  her  onty  answer,  and  in 
another  moment  he,  too,  was  out  in  the  storm  with 
Dora  Deane,  whose  hand  he  involuntarily  took  in 
his,  as  if  to  shield  her  from  the  darkness. 

In  a  few  words  she  told  him  how  she  had  been 
aroused  from  her  sleep  by  her  aunt,  who  said  the 
baby  was  dying  with  the  croup ;  that  the  servant 
was  timid  and  refused  to  go  either  for  him  or  the 
physician,  and  so  she  had  come  herself. 

"And  were  you  not  afraid  ?"  he  asked  ;  and  the 
heroic  girl  answered,  "  No  ;  I  fancied  Ella  was  with 
me,  cheering  me  on,  and  I  felt  no  fear." 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  9! 

Mr.  Hastings  made  no  reply,  but,  when  he  reached 
the  house,  and  saw  the  white,  waxen  face  of  the  child, 
he  felt  that  Ella  had  indeed  been  near  -to  him  that 
night ;  that  she  had  come  for  her  little  one,  who, 
with  a  faint,  moaning  cry,  stretched  its  hands 
towards  Dora,  as  she  entered  the  room.  And  Dora 
took  it  in  her  arms,  holding  it  lovingly  there,  until 
the  last  painful  struggle  was  over,  and  the  father, 
standing  near,  knew  that  wife  and  child  had  met 
together  in  heaven. 

At  the  foot  of  the  garden,  beneath  the  evergreens, 
where  he  had  wished  to  lay  his  other  Ella,  they 
buried  the  little  girl,  and  then  Howard  Hastings 
was,  indeed,  alone  in  the  world — alone  in  his  great 
house,  which  seemed  doubly  desolate  now  that  all 
were  gone.  For  many  weeks  he  did  not  go  to  Locust 
Grove,  but  remained  in  his  quiet  rooms,  brooding 
over  his  grief,  and  going  often  to  the  little  grave  be- 
neath the  evergreens.  There,  once,  at  the  hour  of 
sunset,  he  found  Eugenia  Deane  planting  flowers 
above  his  sleeping  child  !  She  had  marveled  much 
that  he  stayed  so  long  away,  and  learning  that  the 
sunset  hour  was  always  spent  in  the  garden,  she  had 
devised  a  plan  for  meeting  him.  It  succeeded,  and 
with  well- feigned  embarrassment  she  was  hurrying 
away,  when  he  detained  her,  bidding  her  tarry  while 
he  told  her  how  much  he  thanked  her  for  her  kind- 
ness to  his  child. 

"  I  have  wished  to  come  to  Locust  Grove,"  he  said, 
"and  thank  you  all,  but  I  could  not,  for  there  is 
now  no  baby  face  to  greet  me." 

"  But  there  are  those  there  still  who  would  welcome 
you  with  pleasure,"  softly  answered  Eugenia ;  and 
then  with  her  dark  eyes  sometimes  on  the  ground 
and  sometimes  looking  very  pityingly  on  him,  she 
Beted  the  part  of  a  consoler,  telling  him  how  much 


p2  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

better  it  was  for  the  child  to  be  at  rest  with  its 

mother. 

And  while  she  talked,  darkness  fell  upon  them, 
BO  that  Howard  Hastings  could  not  see  the  look  of 
triumph  which  the  dark  eyes  wore  when  he  said, 
"You  must  not  go  home  alone,  Miss  Deane.  Let 
me  accompany  you." 

So  the  two  went  together  very  slowly  down  the 
long  avenue,  and  when  over  an  imaginary  stone  the 
fair  Eugenia  stumbled,  the  arm  of  Howard  Hastings 
was  offered  for  her  support,  and  then  more  slowly 
still  they  continued  on  their  way.  From  that  time 
Mr.  Hastings  was  often  at  Eugenia's  side,  and  before 
the  autumn  was  gone,  he  had  more  than  once  been 
told  she  was  to  be  his  wife.  And  each  time  that 
he  heard  it,  it  affected  him  less  painfully,  until  at 
last  he  himself  began  to  wonder  how  it  were  possible 
for  him  ever  to  have  disliked  and  distrusted  a  person 
so  amiable,  so  intelligent  and  so  agreeable  as  Eugenia 
Deane !  Still  he  could  never  quite  satisfy  himself 
that  he  loved  her,  for  there  was  something  which 
always  came  up  before  him  whenever  he  eeriously 
thought  of  making  her  his  wife.  This  something 
he  could  not  define,  but  when,  as  he  sometimes  did, 
he  fancied  Eugenia  the  mistress  of  his  house,  there 
was  always  in  the  background  the  form  of  Dora 
Deane,  gliding  noiselessly  about  him,  as  she  did  that 
night  when  first  she  came  to  Eose  Hill.  He  saw  but 
little  of  her  now,  for  whenever  he  called,  Eugenia 
managed  to  keep  from  the  room  both  mother,  sister 
and  cousin,  choosing  to  be  alone  with  the  handsome 
widower,  who  lingered  late  and  lingered  long  dread' 
ing  a  return  to  his  lonely  home. 

Eugenia  was  now  daily  expecting  an  answer  to  her 
letter  and  feeling  sure  that  it  would  bring  the  money, 
she  began  to  talk  to  Wt.  Hastings  of  her  new  piano* 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  93 

playfully  remarking,  that  as  he  was  a  connoisseur 
in  such  matters,  she  helieved  she  should  call  on  him 
to  aid  in  her  selection  ;  and  this  he  promised  to  do, 
thinking  the  while  of  the  unused  instrument  in  hia 
deserted  parlor,  and  feeling  strongly  tempted  to  offer 
her  its  use.  Thus  the  weeks  passed  on,  while 
Eugenia  became  more  and  more  impatient,  for  the 
letter. 

"  It  is  an  age  since  I  had  anything  from  the  post- 
office  I  wish  you'd  call  and  inquire,"  she  said  to  Dora 
one  afternoon,  as  she  saw  her  preparing  to  go  out. 

Scarcely  was  she  gone,  however,  when,  remember- 
ing something  which  she  wanted,  and,  thinking  she 
might  possibly  meet  with  Mr.  Hastings,  she  started 
for  the  village  herself  reaching  the  office  door  just  as 
Dora,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Hastings,  was  crossing 
the  street  in  the  same  direction. 

"I  shan't  have  to  go  in  now,"  said  Dora;  and 
fancying  her  companion  would  prefer  waiting  for 
her  cousin  to  walking  with  her,  she  passed  on,  all 
unconscious  of  what  she  had  lost  by  being  a  minute 
too  late. 

"A  letter  from  Uncle  Nat — directed  to  Dora, 
too  ! "  and  Eugenia  grew  alternately  red  and  white, 
as,  crushing  the  missive  into  her  pocket,  she  went 
out  into  the  street,  where  she  was  joined  by  Mr. 
Hastings. 

"  Dora  left  me  rather  unceremoniously,"  said  he, 
as  he  bade  her  good  evening,  "  and  so  I  waited  to 
walk  with  you." 

But  Eugenia  could  not  appear  natural,  so  anxious 
was  she  to  know  what  the  letter  contained.  Up  to 
the  very  gate  Mr.  Hastings  went,  but  for  once  she 
did  not  ask  him  to  stop  ;  and  he  turned  away,  wonder- 
ing at  her  manner,  and  feeling  a  little  piqued  at  her 
unaaual  coolness.  Hastening  to  her  chamber,  and 


94  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

crouching  near  the  window,  Eugenia  tore  open  Dora's 
letter,  and  clutching  eagerly  at  the  draft,  almost 
ecreamed  with  delight  when  she  saw  the  amount. 
FIFTEEN  HUNDRED  DOLLARS  !  She  could  scarcely 
believe  her  senses :  and  drawing  still  nearer  the 
window,  for  the  daylight  was  fading  fast,  she  sought 
for  the  reason  of  this  unexpected  generosity.  But 
the  old  man's  childish  fancy,  which  would  have 
touched  a  heart  less  hard  than  hers,  aroused  only  her 
deepest  ire — not  because  he  had  counted  out  the 
hairs,  but  because  there  had  not  been  more  to  count. 
Bounding  to  her  feet  in  her  wrath,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Fool  that  I  was,  to  have  withheld  one,  when  the 
old  dotard  would  have  paid  for  it  so  richly.  But  it 
cannot  now  be  helped,"  she  continued,  and  resum- 
ing her  seat,  she  read  the  letter  through,  exploding, 
but  once  more,  and  that  at  the  point  where  Uncle 
Nat  had  spoken  of  returning  asking  if  there  was  one 
who  would  welcome  him  home. 

"  Gracious  heavens  ! "  she  exclaimed,  growing  a 
little  faint.  "  Wouldn't  I  be  in  a  predicament  ?  But 
it  shall  never  be,  if  I  can  prevent,  it,  and  I  fancy  I 
can.  As  Dora  will  not  read  this  letter,  it  is  not  rea- 
sonably to  be  expected  that  she  will  answer  it,  and 
it  will  be  some  time,  I  imagine,. before  /invite  him 
to  come  and  see  if  we  are  kind  to  her !  What  a 
childish  old  thing  he  must  be,  to  pay  so  much  for 
one  little  lock  of  hair  !  I'd  send  him  all  of  mine,  if 
I  thought  it  would  bring  me  fifteen  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

It  did  seem  a  large  sum  to  her,  that  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars,  more  than  she  dared  to  appropriate  to 
herself  ;  but  the  piano  she  was  determined  to  have, 
and,  as  she  dreaded  what  her  mother  might  say,  she 
resolved  upon  keeping  the  letter  a  secret  until  the 
purchase  was  mode,  and  then  Mrs.  Deaue  could  not 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  95 

do  otherwise  than  indorse  the  draft,  and  let  her  have 
the  money. 

They  had  been  talking  of  going  to  Rochester  foi 
Borne  time  past,  and  if  she  could  manage  to  have  Mr. 
Hastings  go  with  her,  she  could  leave  her  mother  at 
the  hotel,  or  dispose  of  her  elsewhere,  while  she  went 
with  him  to  the  music  rooms,  and  made  the  selection. 
As  if  fortune  were,  indeed,  favoring  her,  Mr.  Hast 
ings  called  the  next,  night  and  they  were,  as  usual, 
left  together  alone.  She  was  looking  uncommonly 
well  this  evening ;  and  as  she  saw  how  often  and 
how  admiringly  his  eyes  rested  upon  her,  hope  whis- 
pered that  the  prize  was  nearly  won.  After  convers- 
ing awhile  on  different  subjects,  she  spoke  of  her 
new  piano,  asking  him  if  he  remembered  his  promise 
of  assisting  her  in  a  selection,  and  saying  she 
thought  of  going  to  the  city  some  day  that  week. 
Again  Mr.  Hastings  remembered  the  beautiful  rose- 
wood instrument,  whose  tones  had  been  so  long 
unheard  in  his  silent  home,  and  he  said,  "  Do  you 
not  like  Ella's  piano  ?  "  while  a  feeling,  shadowy  and 
undefined,  stole  over  him,  that  possibly  it  might,  some 
day,  be  hers ;  and  Eugenia,  divining  his  thoughts, 
answered  artfully,  "  Oh,  very  much.  I  used  to 
enjoy  hearing  dear  Ella  play,  but  that  don't  do  me 
any  good.  It  isn't  mine,  you  know." 

Very  softly  and  tenderly  the  beautiful  black  eyes 
looked  into  his,  and  the  voice  was  low  and  gentle,  as 
it  breathed  the  sacred  name  of  Ella.  It  was  the 
hour  of  Howard  Hastings's  temptation  ;  and,  scarce 
knowing  what  he  did,  he  essayed  to  speak — to  offer 
"her  the  piano,  whose  keys  had  been  so  often  touched 
by  the  fairy  fingers,  now  folded  away  beneath  the 
winter  snow.  But  his  lips  refused  to  move  ;  there 
was  a  pressure  upon  them,  as  if  a  little  hand  were 
laid  upon  his  month  to  prevent  the  utterance  o* 


$6  DORA  DEANB,  OR, 

words  he  had  better  far  not  speak.  Thus  was  he 
saved,  and  when  Eugenia,  impatient  at  his  delay, 
cast  towards  him  an  anxious  glance,  she  saw  that  his 
thoughts  were  not  of  her,  and,  biting  her  lips  with 
vexation,  she  half  petulantly  asked,  "if  he  had  any 
intention  of  going  to  the  city  that  week  ?" 

"  Yes — no — certainly,"  said  he,  starting  up  as  if 
from  a  deep  reverie.  Then,  as  he  understood  what 
was  wanted  of  him,  he  continued,  "  Excuse  me,  Miss 
Deane.  I  was  thinking  of  Ella,  and  the  night  when 
she  died.  What  were  you  saying  of  Rochester  ?  I 
have  business  there  to-morrow,  and  if  you  go  down, 
I  will  aid  you  all  I  can.  By  the  way,"  he  continued, 

"  that  is  the  night  of 's  grand  concert.  How 

would  you  like  to  attend  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  so  much  I "  answered  Eugenia,  her  fine  eyea 
sparkling  with  delight. 

"  But  stop,"  said  he,  "  now  I  think  of  it,  I  have 
an  engagement  which  may  possibly  prevent  me  from 
attending  it,  as  I  would  like  to  do  with  you,  for  I 
know  you  would  enjoy  it.  Still,  it  may  be  that  I 
can,  and  if  so,  I'll  call  for  you  at  the  hotel.  "We  can 
come  home  on  the  eleven  o'clock  train." 

So,  ere  Mr.  Hastings  departed,  it  was  arranged  that 
Eugenia  and  her  mother  should  next  morning  go 
down  with  him  to  the  city,  and  that  in  the  evening 
he  would,  perhaps,  accompany  them  to  the  concert. 

"  I  am  progressing  fast,"  thought  Eugenia,  as  she 
sat^alone  in  her  chamber  that  night,  after  Alice  had 
retired,  "but  still  I  wish  he'd  come  to  the  point,  and 
not  keep  me  in  such  suspense.  I  thought  once  he 
was  going  to,  and  I  believe  now  he  would  if  he  hadn't 
gone  to  thinking  of  Ella,  and  all  that  nonsense  ;  but 
never  mind,  he's  worth  waiting  for,  with  his  fine 
house  and  immense  wealth  ;  I  shan't  care  BO  much 
•boat  Uncle  Nat's  money  then,  though  goodoeai 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  97 

knows  I  don't  want  him  turning  up  here  some  day 
and  exposing  me,  as  I  dare  say  the  meddlesome  old 
thing  would  do." 

This  reminded  her  of  the  letter,  and,  as  Alice  was 
asleep,  she  thought  this  as  favorable  an  opportunity 
for  answering  it  as  she  would  probably  have.  Open- 
ing her  writing-desk,  and  taking  her  pen,  she  framed 
a  reply,  the  substance  of  which  was,  that  ma,  Alice 
and  herself  were  very,  very  thankful  to  her  dear 
uncle  for  his  generous  gift  to  Dora,  who,  strange  to 
say,  manifested  no  feeling  whatever  ! 

"  If  she  is  grateful,"  wrote  Eugenia,  "  she  does 
not  show  it  in  the  least.  I  hardly  know  what  to 
make  of  her,  she's  so  queer.  Sometime,  perhaps, 
she  will  appreciate  your  goodness,  and  meanwhile, 
rest  assured  that  I  will  see  that  your  gift  is  used  to 
the  best  advantage." 

Not  a  word  of  coming  home  to  the  expectant  old 
man,  whose  heart  each  day  grew  lighter  as  he  thought 
of  the  letter  which  Dora  would  write  bidding  him  to 
come  to  the  friends  who  would  welcome  him  back. 
Not  one  line  from  Dora  to  the  kind  uncle  who, 
when  he  read  the  cruel  lines,  laid  his  weary  head 
upon  his  pillow  and  wept  bitterly  that  this,  his  last 
fond  hope,  was  crushed  I 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  Retribution,  and  Eugenia 
Deane,  sitting  there  alone  that  night,  shuddered  aa 
the  word  seemed  whispered  in  her  ear  But  it  could 
not  deter  her  from  her  purpose.  Howard  Hastings 
must  be  won.  "  The  object  to  be  gained  was  worthy 
of  the  means  used  to  gain  it,"  she  thought,  as  she 
sealed  the  letter  ;  then,  placing  tho  draft  for  the 
$1,500  safely  in  her  purse,  she  crept  softly  to  bed, 
sleeping  ere  long  as  soundly  as  if  the  weiflfcfc  «f  t 
guilty  conscience  had  never  rested  upon  he* 
8 


p8  DORA  DEANE,  Oft, 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    NEW    PIANO. 

THE  next  morning,  at  the  appointed  time,  Mr. 
Hastings,  Mrs.  Deane  and  her  daughter  stood  together 
in  the  Dun  wood  Depot,  awaiting  the  .arrival  of  the 
train.  Eugenia  was  in  high  spirits,,  chatting  gaily 
with  Mr.  Hastings,  whose  manner  was  so  unusually 
lover-like,  that  more  than  one  looker-on  smiled  mean- 
ingly, as  they  saw  how  very  attentive  he  was.  On 
reaching  the  city  he  parted  from  the  ladies  for  a  time, 
telling  Eugenia,  as  he  bade  her  good  morning,  that 
he  should  probably  not  see  her  again  until  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  would  meet 
her  at  the  music-rooms. 

"  Meet  you  at  the  music-rooms  for  what  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Deane,  who,  though  she  had  frequently  heard 
her  daughter  talking  of  a  new  piano,  had  never  for 
a  moment  believed  her  to  be  in  earnest. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  he  would  meet  me  for, 
nnless  it  were  to  look  at  pianos  ?  "  answered  Eugenia, 
and  her  mother  replied,  "  Look  at  pianos  !  A  great 
deal  of  good  that  will  do,  I  imagine,  when  both  of  us 
together  have  but  twenty-five  dollars  in  the  world  !  • 

A  curious  smile  flitted  over  Eugenia's  face,  as  she 
thought  of  the  draft,  but  she  merely  replied,  "And 
suppose  we  haven't  any  money,  can't  I  make  believe, 
and  by  looking  at  expensive  instruments  induce 
Mr.  Hastings  to  think  we  are  richer  than  we  are  ?  I 
4ou't  accuse  him  of  being  at  all  mercenary,  bat  I  do 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  99 

think  ne  would  have  proposed  ere  this,  if  he  hadn't 
thought  us  so  wretchedly  poor." 

Mrs.  Deane  could  not  understand  how  merely  look- 
ing at  a  costly  piano  indicated  wealth  ;  but  feeling 
herself  considerable  interest  in  her  daughter's  success, 
she  concluded  to  let  her  pursue  her  own  course,  and 
the  subject  was  not  resumed  again  until  afternoon, 
when,  having  finished  their  shopping,  they  sat  alone 
in  a  private  room,  opening  from  the  public  hall,  and 
opposite  the  ladies'  parlor  in  the  hotel.  They  had 
taken  this  room,  because  in  case  she  attended  the 
concert,  Eugenia  would  wish  to  rearrange  her  hair, 
and  make  some  little  change  in  her  personal  appear- 
ance. "  Then,  too,  when  Mr.  Hastings  came,"  she 
said,  "  they  would  be  by  themselves,  and  not  have 
everybody  listening  to  what  they  said.  By  the  way, 
mother,"  she  continued,  as  she  stood  before  the  glass, 
"  if  Mr.  Hastings  can  attend  the  concert,  suppose 
you  go  home  at  half-past  six.  You  don't  care  for 
singing,  you  know,  and  besides  that,  you  stumble  so 
in  the  dark,  that  it  will  be  so  much  pleasanter  for 
Mr.  Hastings  to  have  but  one  in  charge." 

"  And  much  pleasanter  for  you,  too,  to  be  alone 
with  him,"  suggested  Mrs.  Deane,  who  really  cared 
but  little  for  music,  and  was  the  more  willing  to 
accede  to  Eugenia's  proposal. 

"  Why,  yes,"  answered  the  young  lady.  "I  think 
it  would  be  pleasanter — so  if  he  says  he  can  accom- 
pany me,  you  go  home,  like  a  dear  good  old  woman 
as  you  are."  And  tying  on  her  bonnet,  Eagenia 
went  out  to  keep  her  appointment,  finding  Mr. 
Hastings  there  before  her,  as  she  had  expected. 

Several  expensive  pianos  were  examined,  and  a 
selection  at  last  made  of  a  very  handsome  one,  whose 
cost  was  $450.  "  I  care  but  little  what  price  I  pay, 
if  it  only  suits  me,"  said  Eugenia,  with  the  air  of  one 


100  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

who  had  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  at  her  disposal. 
*'  You  will  see  that  it  is  carefully  boxed  and  sent  to 
Dunwood,  will  you  not  ?  "  she  continued,  turning  to 
the  man  in  attendance,  who  bowed  respectfully,  and 
stood  waiting  for  the  money,  while  Mr.  Hastings, 
too,  it  may  be,  wondered  a  very  little  if  it  would  be 
forthcoming.  "  I  did  not  know  certainly  as  I  should 
make  a  purchase/*  continued  Eugenia,  "  so  I  left 
the  money  with  mother  at  the  hotel :  I  will,  bring  it 
directly ; "  and  she  tripped  gracefully  out  of  the 
store,  followed  by  Mr.  Hastings,  who  felt  almost  aa 
if  he  had  done  wrong  in  suffering  her  to  buy  a  new 
piano,  when  Ella's  would  have  suited  her  quite  as 
well,  and  the  name  upon  it,  "  E.  Hastings/  would 
make  no  difference  1 

Once,  in  the  street,  he  thought  to  say  something 
like  this  to  her  and  prevent  the  purchase,  but  again 
An  unseen  hand,  as  it  were,  sealed  his  lips  ;  and  when 
he  spoke,  it  was  to  tell  her  that  he  could  probably 
escort  her  to  the  concert,  and  would  see  her  again 
about  dark.  Here  having  reached  the  hotel,  he  left 
her,  and  walked  on  a  short  distance,  when,  remem- 
bering something  concerning  the  concert,  which  he 
wished  to  tell  her,  he  turned  back,  and,  entering  the 
hotel,  went  to  the  parlor,  where  he  expected  to  find 
her.  But  she  was  not  there,  and  thinking  she  had 
gone  out  for  a  moment  and  would  soon  return,  he 
stepped  into  the  hall,  and  as  the  day  was  rather  cold, 
stood  over  the  register,  which  was  very  near  Eugenia's 
room.  He  had  been  there  but  an  instant,  when  he 
caught  the  sound  of  his  own  name,  and  looking  Dp, 
he  saw  that  the  ventilator  over  the  door  opposite  was 
turned  back,  so  that  everything  said  within,  though 
epoken  in  a  low  tone,  could  be  distinctly  heard  with- 
out. It  was  Eugenia  who  was  speaking,  and  not 
wishing  to  listen,  he  was  about  turning  away,  when 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  IOI 

the  words  she  uttered  aroused    his   curiosity    and 
chained  him  to  the  spot. 

They  were,  "  And  what  if  Mr.  Hastings  <Ztd?give  it 
to  me  ?  If  he  marries  me,  and  I  intend  that  he  shall, 
'twill  make  no  difference  whether  the  piano  was 
bought  afterward  or  a  little  in  advance.  He  knows,  or 
ought  to  know,  that  I  would  not  use  Ella's  old  one." 

"  But  has  he  ever  said  a  word  to  you  on  the  sub- 
ject of  marriage  ?"  queried  Mrs.  Deane,  and  Eugenia 
answered,  "  Xot  directly,  perhaps,  but  he  has  had  it 
in  his  mind  a  hundred  times,  I  dare  say.  But  pray 
don't  look  so  distressed.  I  never  knew  before  that 
scheming  mothers  objected  to  their  daughters  receiv- 
ing costly  presents  from  the  gentlemen  to  whom 
they  were  engaged. " 

"  You  are  not  engaged,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  and 
Eugenia  replied,  "  But  expect  to  be,  which  is  the 
game  thing; "  then  after  a  pause,  she  continued, 
"  but,  jesting  aside,  Mr.  Hastings  did  not  buy  the 
piano.  I  bought  it  myself  and  expect  to  pay  for  it, 
too,  that  is,  if  you  will  indorse  this  draft.  Look  i " 
and  she  held  to  view  the  draft,  of  which  Mrs.  Deane 
was,  until  that  moment,  wholly  ignorant. 

Wiping  from  his  white  brow  the  heavy  drops  of 
perspiration  which  had  gathered  thickly  upon  it, 
Mr.  Hastings  attempted  to  leave  the  place,  but  the 
same  hand  which  twice  before  had  sealed  his  lips, 
was  interposed  to  keep  him  there,  and  he  stood 
silent  and  immovable,  while  his  surprise  and  in- 
dignation increased  as  the  conversation  proceeded. 

In  great  astonishment  Mrs.  Deane  examined  the 
draft,  and  then  questioned  her  daughter  as  to  how  she 
came  by  it.  Very  briefly  Eugenia  told  of  the  letter 
she  had  sent  her  Uncle  Nat.  "  I  knew  there  was  no 
surer  way  of  gaining  his  goodwill/'  said  she,  "  than 
by  thrusting  Dora  in  his  face,  so  I  asked  her  if  aha 


IO2  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

had  any  message,  and  she  sent  her  love,  together 
with  a  lock  of  her  mother's  hair,  which  I  verily  believe 
turned  the  old  fellow's  heart.  I  have  not  the  letter 
with  me  which  he  wrote  in  reply  and  directed  to  Dora, 
but  it  was  a  sickish,  sentimental  thing,  prating  about 
his  love  for  her  mother,  and  how  much  he  prized  that 
lock  which  he  said  he  would  pay  for  at  the  rate  of 
one  dollar  a  hair!  And,  don't  you  believe,  the  silly  old 
fool  sat  up  all  night,  crying  over  and  counting  the 
hairs,  which  amounted  to  fifteen  huudredl  'Twould 
have  been  more  if  I  hadn't  foolishly  kept  back 
eome  for  hair  ornaments.  I  was  so  provoked,  I  could 
have  thrown  them  in  the  fire." 

"  But  if  the  letter  was  directed  to  Dora,  how  came 
you  by  it?  "asked  Mrs.  Deane,  who,  knowing  Eugenia 
as  well  as  she  did,  was  still  wholly  unprepared  for 
any  thing  like  this. 

"  'Twas  the  merest  chance  in  the  world/'  answered 
Eugenia,  stating  the  circumstances  by  which  the  let- 
ter came  into  her  possession,  and  adding  that  "  Mr. 
Hastings  must  have  thought  her  manner  that  night 
very  strange  ;  but  come,  "  she  continued,  "  do  sign 
your  name  quick,  so  I  can  get  the  money  before  the 
bank  closes." 

But  this  Mrs.  Deane  at  first  refused  to  do,  saying 
it  was  not  theirs,  and  Dora  should  no  longer  be  de* 
frauded;  at  the  same  time,  she  expressed  her  dis- 
pleasure at  Eugenia's  utter  want  of  principle. 

"  Grown  suddenly  very  conscientious  haven't  yon!  * 
scornfully  laughed  the  young  lady,  reminding  her  of 
the  remittances  annually  sent  to  them  for  Dora's  ben- 
efit, but  which  had  been  unjustly  withheld  ;  "very 
conscientious  indeed  ;  but  I  am  thankful  I  parteq 
company  with  that  commodity  long  ago. 

Then  followed  a  series  of  angry  words,  and  bitter 
recriminations,  by  which  the  entire  history  of  Ea- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  IO3 

genia's  selfish  treatment  of  her  cousin,  even  to  the 
cutting  off  her  hair  more  than  two  years  before,  was 
disclosed  to  Mr.  Hastings,  who,  immeasurably  shocked 
and  sick  at  heart,  turned  away  just  as  Mrs.  Deane, 
to  avoid  further  altercation,  expressed  her  readiness 
to  indorse  the  draft,  on  eondition  that  the  balance, 
after  paying  for  the  piano,  should  be  set  aside  for 
Dora. 

"And  haven't  I  told  you  repeatedly  that  the  piano 
was  all  I  wanted  ?  and  I  shouldn't  be  so  particularly 
anxious  about  that,  if  I  did  not  think  it  would  aid 
me  in  securing  Mr.  Hastings. " 

t{  Which  you  never  shall,  so  help  me  Heaven  I"  ex- 
claimed the  indignant  man,  as  he  strode  noiselessly 
down  the  hall,  and  out  into  the  open  air,  where  he 
breathed  more  freely,  as  if  just  escaping  from  the 
poisonous  atmosphere  of  the  deadly  upas. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  his  emotion,  as 
he  walked  on  through  one  street  after  another.  As- 
tonishment, rage,  horror,  and  disgust  each  in  turn 
predominated,  and  were  at  last  succeeded  by  a  deep 
feeling  of  thankfulness  that  the  veil  had  been  re- 
moved, and  he  had  escaped  from  the  toils  of  one, 
who,  slowly  bnt  surely,  had  been  winding  herself 
around  his  fancy — he  would  not  say  affections,  for  he 
kr.ew  he  had  never  loved  her.  "  But  she  might  have 
duped  me,"  he  said,"  for  I  am  but  human  ;"  and  then 
as  he  thought  what  a  hardened,  unprincipled  woman 
she  was,  he  shuddered  and  grew  faint  at  the  mere  idea 
of  taking  such  a  one  to  fill  the  place  of  his  gentle, 
loving  Ella.  "  I  cannot  meet  her  to-night,"  he  con- 
tinned,  as  he  remembered  the  concert.  "  I  could 
not  endure  the  sound  of  her  voice,  for  I  should  say 
that  to  her  which  had  better  not  be  said.  I  will  go 
home — back  to  Dunwood,  leaving  her  to  wait  for  me 
as  long  as  she,  chooses." 


104  DORA  EEANE,  OR, 

With  him,  to  will  was  to  do,  and  having  finished 
his  business,  he  started  for  the  depot,  whither  Mrs. 
Deane  had  preceded  him,  haying  been  coaxed  by 
Eugenia  to  return  at  half-past  six,  and  thus  leave  her 
the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Hastings'^  company  alone.  The 
piano  had  been  paid  for,  and  as  it  was  quite  dark, 
and  beginning  to  rain,  the  now  amiable  young  lady 
accompanied  her  mother  to  the  depot,  and  having 
seen  her  safely  in  the  cars,  which  would  not  start  in 
some  minutes,  was  on  her  way  back  to  the  hotel,  her 
mind  too  intently  occupied  with  thoughts  of  coming 
pleasure  to  heed  the  man  who,  with  dark  lowering 
brow,  and  hat  drawn  over  his  face,  met  her  on  the 
sidewalk,  and  who  at  sight  of  her  started  suddenly 
as  if  she  had  been  a  crawling  serpent. 

"Will  the  Deanes  always  cross  my  path  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed, as,  opening  the  car  door,  he  saw  near  the 
stove  the  brown  satin  hat  and  black  plumes  of  the 
mother,  who  was  sitting  with  her  back  towards  him, 
and  consequently  was  not  aware  of  his  presence. 

To  find  a  seat  in  another  car  was  an  easy  matter, 
and  while  Eugenia,  at  the  hotel,  was  alternately  ad- 
miring herself  in  the  glass,  and  peering  out  into  the 
hall  to  see  if  he  were  coming,  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Dun  wood,  breathing  more  and  more  freely,  as  the  dis- 
tance between  them  increased. 

"Yes,  I  have  escaped  her,"  he  thought,  and 
mingled  with  thankfulness  for  this,  was  a  deep  feel- 
ing of  sympathy  for  Dora,  to  whom  such  injustice 
had  been  done. 

He  understood  perfectly  her  position — knew  exactly 
the  course  of  treatment,  which,  from  ^  the  first,  she 
had  received,  and  while  trembling  with  anger,  he 
resolved  that  it  should  not  continue.  "  I  can  help 
her,  and  I  will"  he  said  emphatically  ;  though  how, 
or  by  what  means  he  could  not,  in  his  present  state 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  IO$ 

of  excitement,  decide.  Arrived  at  Dunwood,  he 
stepped  hastily  from  the  car  and  walked  rapidly  down 
the  street  until  he  came  opposite  Locust  Grove. 
Then,  indeed,  he  paused,  while  an  involuntary  shud- 
der ran  through  his  frame  as  he  thought  of  the  many 
hours  he  had  spent  within  those  walls  with  one  who 
had  proved  herself  unworthy  even  of  the  name  of 
woman. 

"  But  it  is  over  now,"  he  said,  "  and  when  I  cross 
that  threshold  again,  may " 

The  sentence  was  unfinished,  for  a  light  flashed 
suddenly  out  upon  him,  and  a  scene  met  his  view 
which  arrested  his  footsteps  at  once,  and,  raining  as 
it  was,  he  leaned  back  against  the  fence  and  gazed  at 
the  picture  before  him.  The  shutters  were  thrown 
open,  and  through  the  Avinclow  was  plainly  discernible 
the  form  of  Dora  Deane,  seated  at  a  table  on  which  lay 
a  book  which  she  seemed  to  be  reading.  There  was 
nothing  elegant  about  her  dress,  nor  did  Howard 
Hastings  think  of  this;  his  mind  was  intent  upon 
her  who  had  been  so  cruelly  wronged,  and  whose 
young  face,  seen  through  the  window  on  that  winter 
night,  looked  very  fair,  so  fair  that  he  wondered  he 
had  never  thought  before  how  beautiful  was  Dora 
Deane. 

At  this  point,  Mrs.  Deane,  who  had  been  slower 
in  her  movements,  reached  the  gate,  and,  resigning 
his  post  near  the  fence,  Mr.  Hastings  walked  slowly 
home,  bearing  in  his  mind  that  picture  of  Dora  Deane 
as  he  saw  her  through  the  window,  with  no  shadows 
on  her  brow,  save  those  left  there  by  early  grief,  and 
which  rendered  her  face  still  more  attractive  than  it 
would  otherwise  have  been.  That  night,  all  through 
the  silent  hours,  there  shone  a  glimmering  light  from 
the  room  where  Howard  Hastings  sat,  brooding  upon 
what  be  had  heard,  and  meditating  upon  the  beat 


106  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

means  for  ^removing  Dora  from  the  influence  of  hef 
heartless  cousin.  Slowly  over  him,  too,  came  mem- 
ories of  the  little  brown-faced  girl  who,  when  hia 
home  was  cheerless,  had  come  to  him  with  her  kindly 
acts  and  gentle  ways,  diffusing  over  all  an  air  of 
comfort  and  filling  his  home  with  sunlight.  Then 
he  remembered  that  darkest  hour  of  his  desolation— 
yhat  first  coming  home  from  burying  his  dead  ;  and, 
now  as  then  he  felt  creeping  over  him  the  icy  chili 
which  had  lain  upon  his  heart  when  he  approached 
the  house  whence  they  had  borne  his  fair  girl  wife. 
But  he  had  found  her  there — Dora  Deaue — folding 
his  motherless  baby  to  her  bosom,  and  again  in  imag- 
ination he  met  the  soft  glance  of  her  eye  as  she  wel- 
comed him  back  to  Ella's  room  which  seemed  not 
half  so  lonely  with  Dora  sitting  by  his  side.  Again 
he  was  with  her  in  the  storm  which  she  had  braved 
on  that  night  when  his  child  lay  dying — the  child 
whom  she  had  loved  so  much,  and  who  had  died 
upon  her  lap.  Anon,  this  picture  faded  too,  and  he 
saw  her  as  he  had  seen  her  but  a  few  hours  before— 
almost  a  woman  now,  but  retaining  still  the  same 
fair,  open  brow,  and  sunny  smile  which  had  character- 
ized her  as  a  child.  And  this  was  the  girl  whom 
Eugenia  would  trample  down — would  misrepresent 
to  the  fond  old  uncle,  far  away.  "  But  it  shall  never 
be,"  he  said  aloud  ;  "  I  will  remove  her  from  them 
by  force  if  need  be."  But  "  where  would  she  go  ?" 
he  asked.  Then  as  he  remembered  Ella's  wish  that 
he  should  care  for  her — a  wish  which  his  foolish  fancy 
for  Eugenia  had  for  a  time  driven  from  his  mind,  he 
felt  an  intense  longing  to  have  her  there  with  him  ; 
there,  in  his  home,  where  he  could  see  her  every  day 
— not  as  his  wife,  for  at  that  time  Howard  Hastings 
had  never  thought  it  possible  for  him  to  call  her  by 
that  name,  she  seemed  so  much  a  child ;  but «he should 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE,  IO7 

be  his  sister,  and  his  manly  heart  throbbed  with  de- 
light, as  he  thought  how  he  would  watch  over  and  pro- 
tect her  from  all  harm.  He  would  teach  her  and  she 
would  learn,  sitting  at  his  feet  as  she  sat  two  years  be- 
fore ;  and  life  would  seem  no  longer  sad  and  dreary,  for 
he  would  have  a  pleasant  home  and  in  it  Dora  Deane  I 
Ere  long,  however,  his  better  judgment  told  him  that 
the  censorious,  curious  world  would  never  suffer  this 
to  be ;  she  couldn't  come  as  Ms  sister — she  couldn't 
come  at  all — and  again  there  came  over  him  a  sense 
of  desolation,  as  if  he  were  a  second  time  bereaved. 

Slowly  and  steadily  the  raindrops  pattered  against 
the  window  pane,  while  the  lamp  upon  the  table 
burned  lower  and  lower,  and  still  Mr.  Hastings  sat 
there,  pondering  another  plan,  to  which  he  could 
see  no  possible  objection,  provided  Mrs.  Deane's 
consent  could  be  obtained  :  "  and  she  shall  consent," 
he  said,  "  or  an  exposure  of  her  daughter  will  be  the 
consequence/* 

Then,  it  occurred  to  him  that,  in  order  to  succeed, 
he  must  for  a  time  at  least  appear  perfectly  natural 
— must  continue  to  visit  at  Locust  Grove,  just  as  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing — must  meet  Eugenia 
face  to  face,  and  even  school  himself  to  listen  to  the 
sound  of  her  piano,  which  he  felt  would  grate  so 
harshly  on  his  ear.  And  all  this  he  could  do  if  in 
the  end  Dora  would  be  benefited. 

For  the  more  immediate  accomplishment  of  his 
purpose,  it  seemed  necessary  that  he  should  visit  New 
York,  and  as  in  his  present  excitement,  he  could 
not  rest  at  home,  he  determined  upon  going  that 
rery  morning,  in  the  early  train.  Pushing  back  the 
heavy  drapery  which  shaded  the  window  he  saw  that 
daylight  was  already  breaking  in  the  east,  and,  after 
a  few  hurried  preparations,  he  knocked  at  Mrs. 
Lean's  door,  and  telling  her  that  important  businesi 


108  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

required  his  presence  in  New  York,  whither  he  should 
be  gone  a  few  days,  he  started  for  the  depot,  just  as 
the  sum  was  rising ;  and,  that  night,  Mrs.  Elliott, 
his  sister,  was  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  in  the 
parlor,  and  wished  to  see  her. 

"Why,  Howard  1"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  entered 
the  room  and  saw  how  pale  and  haggard  he  was, 
"  what  is  the  matter,  and  why  have  you  come  upon 
me  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  I  have  come,  Louise,  for  aid,"  he  answered, 
advancing  towards  her,  and  drawing  her  to  his  side. 
"  Aid  for  an  injured  orphan.  Do  you  remember  Dora 
Deane  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well,"  answered  Mrs.  Elliott.  "I  was 
too  much  interested  in  her  to  forget  her  soon.  Ella 
wrote  me  that  she  was  living  in  Dunwood,  and  when 
next  I  visited  yon,  I  intended  seeking  her  out.  But 
what  of  her,  and  how  can  I  befriend  Tier  ?" 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  Mr.  Hastings  told 
wiat  he  knew  of  her  history  since  his  sister  saw  her 
last,  withholding  not  even  the  story  of  his  own 
strange  fancy  for  Eugenia.  "  But  that  is  over,  thank 
Heaven,"  he  continued  ;  "  and  now,  Louise,  you 
must  take  Dora  to  live  with  you.  You  have  no 
child,  no  sister,  and  she  will  be  to  you  both  of  these* 
You  must  love  her,  educate  her,  make  her  just  such 
a  woman  as  you  are  yourself  ;  make  her,  in  short, 
what  that  noble-hearted  old  man  in  India  will  wish 
her  to  be  when  he  returns,  as  he  shall  do,  if  my  life 
is  spared  ;  and  Louise,"  he  added,  growing  more  and 
more  earnest,  "  she  will  well  repay  you  for  your 
trouble.  She  brought  sunshine  to  my  home ;  she 
will  bring  it  to  yours.  She  is  naturally  refined 
and  intelligent.  She  is  amiable,  ingenuous,  open- 
hearted,  and  will  one  day  be  beautiful." 

"  And  you,  my  brother,  love  her  ?  "  queried  Mrs. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  109 

Elliott,  looking  him  steadily  in  his  face,  and  part- 
ing the  thick,  black  hair  from  off  his  high,  white 
forehead. 

"Love  her,  Louise  I"  he  answered,  "/  love  Dora 
Deane  !  Why,  no.  Ella  loved  her,  the  baby  loved 
her,  and  for  this  1  will  befriend  her,  but  to  love  her, 
I  never  thought  of  sach  a  thing  !"  and  walking  to 
the  window,  he  looked  out  upon  the  night,  repeating 
to  himself,  "  Love  Dora  Deane.  I  wonder  what  put 
that  idea  into  Louise's  brain  ?  " 

Returning  ere  long  to  his  seat,  he  resumed  the 
conversation,  which  resulted  at  last  in  Mrs.  Elliott's 
expressing  her  perfect  willingness  to  give  Dora  a 
home,  and  a  mother's  care,  to  see  that  she  had  every 
possible  advantage,  to  watch  over  and  make  her  not 
only  what  Uncle  Nat  would  wish  to  find  her,  but 
what  Howard  Hastings  himself  desired  that  she 
should  be.  Of  Mrs.  Elliott,  we  have  said  but  little, 
neither  is  it  necessary  that  we  should  dwell  upon  her 
character  at  large.  She  was  a  noble,  true-hearted 
woman,  finding  her  greatest  happiness  in  doing 
others  good.  Widowed  in  the  second  year  of  her 
married  life,  her  home  was  comparatively  lonely,  for 
no  second  love  had  ever  moved  her  heart.  In  Dora 
Deane,  of  whom  Ella  had  written  so  enthusiastically, 
she  felt  a  deep  interest,  and  when  her  brother  came 
to  her  with  the  story  of  her  wrongs,  she  gladly  con- 
sented to  be  to  her  a  mother,  nay,  possibly  a  sister, 
for,  with  woman's  ready  tact,  she  read  what  Mr. 
Hastings  did  not  even  suspect,  and  she  bade  him 
bring  her  at  once. 

A  short  call  upon  his  mother,  to  whom  he  talked 
of  Dora  Deane ;  a  hasty  visit  to  Ella's  grave,  on 
which  the  winter  snow  was  lying  ;  a  civil  bow  across 
the  street  to  Mrs.  Grey,  who  had  never  quite  for- 
given him  for  having  Silled  her  daughter ;  and  h* 


DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

started  back  to  Dunwood,  bearing  with  him  a  happier, 
healthier,  frame  of  mind,  than  he  had  experienced 
for  many  a  day.  There  was  something  now  worth 
living  for — the  watching  Dora  Deane  grow  up  into 
a  woman,  whose  husband  would  delight  to  honor 
her,  and  whose  children  would  rise  up  and  call  her 
blessed.  This  picture,  however,  was  not  altogether 
pleasing,  though  why  the  thoughts  of  Dora's  future 
husband  should  affect  him  unpleasantly,  he  could 
not  tell.  Still  it  did,  and  mentally  hoping  she 
would  never  marry,  he  reached  Dunwood  at  the 
close  of  the  third  day  after  his  departure  from  it. 

Here  for  a  moment  we  leave  him,  while,  iii  another 
chapter,  we  look  in  upon  Eugenia,  whom  we  left 
waiting  for  him  at  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

FAILURE  AND  SUCCESS. 

IN  a  state  of  great  anxiety,  which  increased  each 
moment,  Eugenia  looked  for  the  twentieth  time  into 
the  long  hall,  and  seeing  no  one,  went  back  again  to 
the  glass,  wondering  if  her  new  hat,  which,  without 
her  mother's  knowledge,  had  that  afternoon  been 
purchased,  and  now  adorned  her  head,  were  as  be- 
coming as  the  milliner  had  said,  and  if  fifteen  dollars 
were  not  a  great  price  for  one  in  her  circumstances 
to  pay  for  a  bonnet.  Then  she  thought  if  Mr. 
Hastings  proposed  soon,  as  she  believed  he  would, 
she  should  never  again  feel  troubled  about  the  trivial 
matter  of  money,  of  which  she  would  have  an  abun- 
dance. But  where  was  he  and  whv  did  he  not  come  ? 
aliu  asked  herself  repeatedly,  caring  less,  however. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  Ill 

for  the  delay,  when  she  considered  that  if  they  were 
late,  more  people  would  see  her  in  company  with  the 
elegant  Mr.  Hastings,  who  was  well  known  in  the 
city. 

"Eight  o'clock  as  I  live,"  she  exclaimed  at  last, 
consulting  her  watch,  "and  the  concert  was  to 
commence  at  half -past  seven.  "What  can  it  mean  ?  " 
and  with  another  glance  at  her  bonnet,  she  walked 
the  length  of  the  hall,  and  leaning  far  over  the 
balustrade  lopksd  anxiously  down  into  the  office 
below,  to  see  if  by  any  chance  he  were  there. 

But  he  was  not,  and  returning  to  her  room,  she 
waited  another  half  hour,  when,  grown  more  fidgety 
and  anxious,  she  descended  to  the  office,  inquiring  if 
Mr.  Hastings  had  been  there  that  evening.  Some 
one  thought  they  had  seen  him  in  the  ladies'  parlor 
that  afternoon,  but  further  information  than  that 
she  could  not  obtain,  and  the  discomfited  young  lady 
went  back  to  her  room  in  no  very  enviable  frame  of 
mind,  particularly  as  she  heard  the  falling  of  the 
rain  and  thought  how  dark  it  was  without. 

"  What  can  have  kept  him  ?  "  she  said,  half  crying 
with  vexation.  "  And  how  I  wish  I  had  gone  home 
with  mother  ! " 

Wishing,  however,  was  of  no  avail,  and  when 
that  night  at  half-past  ten,  the  hotel  omnibus  as 
usual  went  to  the  depot,  it  carried  a  very  cross  young 
lady,  who,  little  heeding  what  she  did,  and  caring 
less,  sat  down  beneath  a  crevice  in  the  roof,  through 
which  the  rain  crept  in,  lodging  upon  the  satin  bows 
and  drooping  plumes  of  her  fifteen-dollar  hat,  which, 
in  her  disappointment,  she  had  forgotten  to  exchange 
for  the  older  one,  safely  stowed  away  in  the  band- 
box she  held  upon  her  lap.  Arrived  at  Dun  wood 
station,  she  found,  as  she  had  expected,  no  omnibus 
in  waiting,  nor  any  one  whose  services  she  could  claim 


112  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

as  an  escort,  so,  borrowing  an  umbrella,  and  holding 
up  her  dress  as  best  she  conld,  she  started,  band-box 
I'n  hand,  for  home,  stepping  once  into  a  pool  of  water, 
and  falling  once  upon  the  dirty  sidewalk,  from  which 
the  mud  and  snow  were  wiped  by  her  rich  velvet 
cloak,  to  say  nothing  of  the  frightful  pinch  made  in 
iier  other  bonnet  by  her  having  crushed  the  band- 
box in  her  fall. 

In  a  most  forlorn  condition,  she  at  last  reached 
home,  where  to  her  dismay  she  found  the  door  was 
locked  and  the  fire  gone  out,  her  mother  not  having 
expected  her  to  return  on  such  a  night  as  this^  To 
rouse  up  Dora,  and  scold  her  unmercifully,  though 
for  what  she  scarcely  knew,  was  under  the  circum- 
stances quite  natural,  and  while  Mr.  Hastings  at 
Rt.se  Hill  was  devising  the  best  means  of  removing 
Dora  Irom  her  power,  she  at  Locust  Grove  was  vent- 
ing tljj  entire  weight  of  her  pent-up  wrath  upon  the 
head  ti  the  devoted  girl,  who  bore  it  uncomplain- 
ingly. Removing  at  last  her  bonnet,  she  discovered 
the  murks  of  the  omnibus  leak,  and  then  her  ire 
was  turned  towards  him  as  having  been  the  cause  of 
all  her  disasters. 

"  I'll  never  speak  to  him  again,  never,"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  crept  shivering  to  bed. 

But  a  few  hours'  quiet  slumber  dissipated  in  a 
measure  her  wrath,  and  during  the  next  day  she 
many  times  looked  out  to  see  him  coming,  as  she 
surely  thought  he  would,  laden  with  apologies  for  his 
seeming  neglect.  But  nothing  appeared  except  the 
huge  box  containing  the  piano,  and  in  superintending 
the  opening  of  that  her  mind  was  for  a  time  diverted. 
Greatly  Ance  and  Dora  marveled  whence  came  the 
money  with  which  the  purchase  had  been  made,  and 
both  with  one  consent  goitled  upon  Mr.  Hastings  as 
having  been  the  donor,  "c'o  this  suggestion  Eugenia 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  1IJ 

made  no  reply,  and  feeling  sure  that  it  was  so,  Dora 
turned  away  and  walking  to  the  window  signed  aa 
she  wondered  what  Ella  would  say  if  she  could  know 
who  was  to  take  her  place  in  the  heart  of  Howard 
Hastings. 

The  instrument  was  finely  toned,  and  Eugenia 
snent  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  practising  a  verj 
difficult  piece,  which  she  knew  Mr.  Hastings  admired, 
and  with  which  she  intended  to  surprise  and  charm 
him.  But  he  did  not  come,  either  that  day  or  the 
next,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  next,  which  was 
Saturday,  feigning  some  trivial  errand  to  Mrs.  Leah, 
she  went  herself  to  Rose  Hill,  casting  anxious  glances 
towards  the  windows  of  his  room  to  see  if  he  were 
in  sight.  Dame  Leah  was  a  shrewd  old  woman,  and 
readily  guessing  that  Eugenia's  visit  was  prompted 
from  a  desire  to  see  her  master,  rather  than  herself, 
she  determined  to  tantalize  her  by  saying  nothing 
of  him  unless  she  were  questioned.  Continually 
hoping  he  would  appear,  Eugenia  lingered  until  there 
was  no  longer  a  shadow  of  excuse  for  tarrying,  and 
then  she  arose  to  go,  saying  as  she  reached  the  door, 
"  Oh,  now  I  think  of  it,  Mr.  Hastings  has  a  book  in 
his  library  which  I  very  much  wish  to  borrow.  Is 
he  at  home  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Leah,  "he  went  to  Ne\f 
York,  Thursday  morning,  on  the  early  train." 

"  To  New  York  ! "  repeated  Eugenia,  "  for  what  ? 
and  when  will  he  be  home  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  had  important  business,"  returned 
Mrs.  Leah,  adding  that  "  maybe  he'd  be  home  that 
night." 

Eugenia  had  heard  all  she  wished  to  know,  and 
forgetting  entirely  the  TjooTc,  bade  Mrs.  Leah  good- 
morning,  and  walked  away,  feeling  in  a  measure 
relieved,  for  the  business  which  took  him  so  and- 
8 


It4  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

denly  to  New  York,  had  undoubtedly  some  connec- 
tion with  his  failing  to  call  at  the  hotel  for  her  I  H0 
had  never  called  npoii  Sunday  evening,  but  thinking 
that  after  so  long  an  absence  he  might  do  so  now, 
she  sat  in  state  from  six  o'clock  till  nine,  starting 
nervously  at  every  sound,  and  once,  when  sure  she 
heard  him,  running  from  the  room,  so  he  would  not 
find  her  there,  and  think  she  had  been  waiting  for 
him.  But  he  did  not  come,  and  the  next  day,  feeling 
exceedingly  anxious  to  know  if  he  had  returned,  and 
remembering  the  book,  which  she  had  failed  to  get, 
and  must  have,  she  towards  night  sent  Dora  to  Rose 
Hill,  bidding  her  if  she  saw  Mr.  Hastings  tell  him 
that  her  piano  had  come  and  she  wished  him  to  hear 
it. 

In  the  long  kitchen  by  a  glowing  stove,  Dame  Leah 
sat,  busy  with  her  knitting,  which  she  quickly  sus- 
pended when  she  saw  Dora,  who  was  with  her  a 
favorite. 

"  So  Eugenia  sent  you  for  that  book  ?  "  she  said, 
when  told  of  Dora's  errand.  "  I'll  see  if  he  will  lend 
it." 

Mr.  Hastings  was  alone  in  his  library.  All  that 
day  he  had  been  making  up  his  mind  to  call  at  Locust 
Grove,  where  he  knew  Eugenia  was  impatiently  ex- 
pecting him,  for  Mrs.  Leah  had  told  him  of  her  call, 
winking  slily  as  she  spoke  of  the  forgotten  looTcl 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  and  have  it  over,"  he  thought,  just 
as  Mrs.  Leah  entered,  telling  him  that  "  Miss  Deane 
wanted  that  book." 

Thinking  that  Eugenia  was  in  the  house,  he  an- 
swered hastily.  "  Take  it  to  her,  and  pray  don't  let 
her  in  here." 

"  It's  Dora,  not  Eugenia,"  said  Mrs.  Leah,  and  in- 
stantly  the  whole  expression  of  his  countenance 
changed. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE. 

"  Dora  I  *  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  a  long  time  sinct 
I  saw  her  in  this  room.  Tell  her  to  come  up." 

Very  gladly  Dora  obeyed  the  summons,  and  in  a 
moment  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Hastings. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  motioning  her 
to  the  little  stool,  on  which  she  had  often  sat  when 
reciting  to  him  her  lessons,  and  when  she  now  sat 
down,  it  was  so  near  to  him  that,  had  he  chosen,  his 
hand  could  have  rested  on  her  beautiful  hair,  for  she 
held  her  hood  upon  her  lap. 

Two  months  before  and  he  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated to  smooth  these  shining  tresses,  but  the  ques- 
tion of  his  sister,  "  Do  you  love  her  ?"  had  produced 
upon  him  a  curious  effect,  making  him  half  afraid  of 
the  child-woman  who  sat  before  him,  and  who,  after 
waiting  a  time  for  him  to  speak,  looked  up  into  his 
face,  and  said,  "  Do  you  want  me  for  anything  in 
particular,  Mr.  Hastings  ?  " 

"Want  you,  Dora?  Want  you  ?"  he  said,  ab- 
stractedly, as  if  that  question,  too,  had  puzzled  him  ; 
then  remembering  himself,  and  why  he  had  sent  for 
her,  he  answered,  ' '  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Dora—- 
to tell  you  something.  Do  you  remember  my  sister 
Mrs.  Elliott?" 

The  eager,  upward  glance  of  Dora's  eyes,  was  a 
sufficient  answer,  and  he  continued,  "I  saw  her 
last  week  and  talked  with  her  of  you.  She  wishes 
you  to  come  and  live  with  her.  Will  you  go  ?" 

Dora  could  never  tell  why  she  cried,  but  the 
thought  of  living  with  Mrs.  Elliott,  whom  she 
regarded  as  an  almost  superior  being,  overcame  her, 
and  she  burst  into  tears,  while  Mr.  Hastings  looked 
at  her,  quite  uncertain  as  to  what,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  proper  for  him  to  do.  If  hit 
sister  had  never  bothered  him  with  that  strange 
question,  he  would  have  known  exactly  bow  to  act j 


Il6  DORA   DEANE,OR, 

bat  now  in  a  state  of  perplexity,  he  sat  motionless, 
until,   thinking   he   must    do    something,   he  said 

gently,  " Dora,  my  cliild"  The  last  word  removed 
is  embarrassment  entirely.  She  ivas  a  child,  and  as 
Bnch  he  would  treat  her.  So  he  said  again,  "  Dora, 
my  child,  why  do  you  cry  ? "  and  Dora  answered 
impulsively,  "  It  makes  me  so  glad  to  think  of  liv- 
ing with  Mrs.  Elliott,  for  you  do  not  know  how 
unhappy  I  have  been  since  she  found  me  four  years 
ago." 

"  I  know  more  than  you  suppose.  But  it  is  over 
now/'  he  said  ;  and  stretching  out  his  arm,  he  drew 
her  nearer  to  him,  and  resting  her  head  upon  his 
knee,  he  soothed  her  as  if  she  wrre  indeed  the  child 
he  tried  to  believe  she  was,  and  he  her  gray-haired 
eire,  instead  of  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven  ! 

And  Dora  grew  very  calm  sitting  there  with  Mr. 
Hastings's  hand  upon  her  head,  and  when  he  told 
her  it  was  all  arranged,  and  she  should  sur  ly  go, 
ehe  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  while  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  excitement,  excl°inied,  "  It  is  too  good  to  come 
true.  Something  will  happen,  Aunt  Sarah  will  not 
let  me  go." 

"Yes,  she  will,"  said  Mr.  Hastings  decidedly. 
"  I  am  going  there  to-night  to  talk  with  her. /J 

Then,  as  it  was  already  growing  dark,  he  rose  to 
accompany  Dora  home,  both  of  them  forgetting  the 
book,  which  Eugenia  seemed  destined  never  to  re- 
ceive. But  she  did  not  think  to  ask  for  it  in  her 
joy  at  meeting  Mr.  Hastings,  who  succeeded  in  ap- 
pearing natural  far  better  than  he  had  expected,  totU 
ing  her  not  that  he  was  sorry  for  having  failed  to 
keep  his  appointment,  but  that  it  was  not  consistent 
for  him  to  do  so,  and  adding  that  he  hoped  she  wai 
not  very  much  disappointed 

"  Oh,  no/'  she  said,  "  I  know  of  course  that  bnai- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  117 

Hess  detained  you  ; " — then,  as  she  saw  him  looking 
at  her  piano,  she  advanced  towards  it,  and  seating 
herself  upon  the  stool,  asked,  "if  he  would  like  to 
hear  her  play  ?  " 

He  could  not  conscientiously  answer  "yes,"  for 
he  felt  that  the  sound  would  sicken  him  ;  but  he 
stood  at  her  side  and  turned  the  leaves  of  her  music 
as  usual,  while  she  dashed  through  the  piece  she  had 
practised  with  so  much  care. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?  "  she  said,  when  she  had 
finished  ;  and  he  answered,  "  I  always  admired  youi 
playing,  you  know,  but  the  tone  of  the  instrument 
does  not  quite  suit  me.  It  seems  rather  muffled,  as 
if  the  wires  were  made  of  hair  !"  and  his  large  black 
eyes  were  bent  searchingly  upon  her. 

Coloring  crimson,  she  thought,  "  Can  he  have 
learned  my  secret  ?  "  then,  as  she  remembered  how 
impossible  it  was  for  him  to  know  aught  of  the 
money,  she  answered,  "Quite  an  original  idea,"  at 
the  same  time  seating  herself  upon  the  sofa.  Sit- 
ting down  beside  her  as  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing,  he  commenced  at  once  upon  the  object  of  his 
visit,  asking  if  her  mother  were  at  home,  and  say- 
ing he  wished  to  see  her  on  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance ;  then,  knowing  who  was  really  the  ruling 
power  there,  he  added,  as  Eugenia  arose  to  leave  the 
room  in  quest  of  her  mother,  "  perhaps  I  had  better 
speak  of  my  business  first  to  you  1 " 

Feeling  sure  now  of  a  proposal,  the  young  lady  re- 
sumed her  seat,  involuntarily  pulling  at  her  fourth 
finger,  and  mentally  hoping  the  engagement  ring 
would  be  a  diamond  one.  What  then  was  her  sur- 
prise when  she  found  that  not  herself,  but  Dora  was 
the  subject  of  his  remarks  !  After  telling  her  of  his 
visit  to  his  sister,  and  of  her  wishes  with  regard  to 
Dora,  he  said,  "since  the  death  of  my  wife  and 


Il8  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

baby,  I  have  felt  a  deep  interest  iu  your  family,  fof 
the  kindness  shown  to  me  in  my  affliction.  I 
promised  Ella  that  I  would  befriend  Dora,  and  by 
placing  her  with  Louise,  I  shall  not  only  fulfil  my 
word,  but  shall  also  be  relieved  of  all  care  concerning 
her.  Do  you  think  I  can  persuade  your  mother  to 
let  her  go  ?  " 

Eugenia  did  not  know.  She  would  speak  to  her 
about  it  after  he  was  gone,  and  tell  him  on  the 
morrow. 

"  I  shall  rely  upon  you  to  plead  my  cause,"  he 
continued ;  "  Louise's  heart  is  quite  set  upon  it,  and 
I  do  not  wish  to  disappoint  her. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  answered  Eugenia,  never 
suspecting  that  Mr.  Hastings  was  quite  as  anxious 
as  his  sister,  who,  she  presumed,  intended  making 
a  half  companion,  half  waiting-maid  of  her  cousin. 

"  But  it  will  be  a  good  place  for  her,  and  some- 
what of  a  relief  to  us,"  she  thought,  after  Mr. 
Hastings  had  gone.  She  is  getting  to  be  a  young 
lady  now,  and  growing  each  year  more  and  more 
expensive.  I  presume  Mrs.  Elliott  will  send  to  her 
to  school  for  a  time  at  least,  and  in  case  our  families 
should  be  connected,  it  is  well  for  her  to  do  so.  I 
wrote  to  Uncle  Nat  that  we  wished  to  send  her  away 
to  school,  and  this  is  the  very  thing.  Mother  won^fr 
of  course  insist  upon  her  having  all  that  money,  for 
she  will  be  well  enough  off  without  it,  and  if  Mr. 
Hastings  ever  does  propose,  I  can  have  a  handsome 
outfit !  Fortune  does  favor  me  certainly." 

Thus  Eugenia  mused,  and  thus  did  she  talk  to 
her  mother  and  she  was  the  more  easily  persuaded 
when  she  saw  how  eager  Dora  was  to  go." 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  you,  Aunt  Sarah,"  said 
Dora,  coming  to  her  side,  and  resting  her  hand  upon 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  119 

her  shoulder,  "  but  I  shall  be  so  happy  with  Mrs. 
Elliott,  that  I  am  sure  you'll  let  me  go." 

Mrs.  Deane  was  naturally  a  cold,  selfish  woman, 
but  the  quiet,  unassuming  Dora  had  found  a  place 
in  her  heart,  and  she  would  be  very  lonely  without 
her  ;  still  it  was  better  for  her,  and  better  for  them 
all  that  she  should  go  ;  so  she  at  last  gave  her  con- 
sent, and  when  the  next  day  Mr.  Hastings  called  he 
was  told  that  Dora  could  go  as  soon  as  he  thought 
best. 

"  Let  it  be  immediately,  then,'*  he  said.  (<  I  -\viL 
write  to  Louise  to-night,  and  tell  her  we  shall  come 
next  week." 

"I  wish  I  could  go  to  New  York  with  her/'  said 
Eugenia.  "It's  so  long  since  I  was  there." 

"  You  had  better  wait  till  some  other  time,  for  I 
could  not  now  show  you  over  the  city,"  answered 
Mr.  Hastings,  who  had  no  idea  of  being  burdened 
with  Eugenia. 

"He  expects  me  to  go  with  him  sometime,  or  he 
would  never  have  said  that,"  thought  Eugenia,  and 
this  belief  kept  her  good-natured  during  all  the 
bustle  and  hurry  of  preparing  Dora  for  her  journey. 

The  morning  came  at  last  on  which  Dora  was  to 
leave,  and  with  feelings  of  regret  Mrs.  Deane  and 
Alice  bade  her  good-by,  while  Eugenia  accompanied 
her  to  the  depot,  where  she  knew  she  should  see  Mr. 
Hastings. 

"I've  half  a  mind  to  go  with  you  as  far  as 
Rochester,"  she  said  to  Dora,  in  his  presence,  as 
the  cars  came  up,  but  he  made  no  reply,  and  the 
project  was  abandoned. 

Kissing  her  cousin  good-by,  she  stood  upon  the 
platform  until  the  train  had  moved  away,  and  then 
walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  which  even  to  her 
teemed  lonesome. 


130  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

CHAPTER  XVH. 

THE    QUESTION    ANSWERED. 

IT  was  late  in  the  evening  when  our  travelers 
Beached  the  city,  which  loomed  up  before  Dora  like 
an  old  familiar  friend.  They  found  Mrs.  Elliott 
waiting  to  receive  them,  together  with  Mr.  Hast- 
ings's  mother,  who,  having  heard  so  much  of  Dora 
Deane,  had  come  over  to  see  her.  Very  affection- 
ately did  Mrs.  Elliott  greet  the  weary  girl,  and  after 
divesting  her  of  her  wrappings,  she  led  her  to  her 
mother,  whose  keen  eyes  scrntinized  her  closely,  but 
found  no  fault  in  the  fair  childish  face  which  looked 
so  timidly  up  to  her.  Half  bewildered,  Dora  gazed 
about  her,  and  then,  with  her  eyes  swimming  in 
tears,  whispered  softly  to  Mr.  Hastings,  "  I  am  so 
afraid  it  will  prove  to  be  a  dream/' 

"  I  will  see  that  it  does  not,"  said  Mrs.  Elliott, 
who  had  overheard  her,  and  who,  as  time  passed 
on,  became  more  and  more  interested  in  the  orphan 
girl. 

For  several  days  Mr.  Hastings  lingered,  showing 
her  all  over  the  city,  and  going  once  with  her  to 
visit  the  room  where  he  had  found  her.  But  the 
elements  had  preceded  them — fire  and  water— and 
not  a  trace  of  the  old  building  remained.  At  the 
expiration  of  a  week,  Mr.  Hastings  started  for  home, 
half  wishing  he  could  take  Dora  with  him,  and  won- 
dering  if  his  sister  were  in  earnest,  when  she  asked 
him  if  lie  loved  her  ? 

A  new  world  now  seemed  open  to  Dora,  who  never 
thought  it  possible  for  her  to  be  so  happy.  The 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  121 

ablest  instructors  were  hired  to  teach  her,  and  the 
utmost  care  bestowed  upon  her  education,  while 
nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  both  of  Mrs.  El- 
liott and  Mrs.  Hastings,  the  latter  of  whom  treated 
her  as  she  would  have  done  a  young  and  favorite 
daughter.  One  evening  when  Mrs.  Elliott  was  dress- 
ing for  a  party,  Dora  asked  permission  to  arrange 
her  soft  glossy  hair,  which  she  greatly  admired. 

"It's  not  all  my  own,"  said  Mrs.  Eliott,  taking  off 
a  heavy  braid  and  laying  it  upon  the  table.  I 
bought  it  in  Eochester,  nearly  two  years  ago,  on  the 
day  of  Ella's  party.  I  have  often  wished  I  knew 
whose  it  was,*  she  continued,  "for  to  me  there  is 
something  disagreeable  in  wearing  other  people's  hair, 
but  the  man  of  whom  I  purchased  it,  assured  me 
that  it  was  cut  from  the  head  of  a  young,  healthy 
girl." 

For  a  moment  Dora  stood  thinking — then  catching 
tip  the  beautiful  braid  and  comparing  it  with  her 
own  she  exclaimed,  "  It  was  mine  I  It  was  mine! 
Eugenia  cut  it  off,  and  sold  it  the  day  before  the 
party.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  she  added,  "though  I 
was  sorry  then,  for  I  did  not  know  it  would  come  to 
you,  the  dearest  friend  I  ever  had,"  and  she  smoothed 
caressingly  the  shining  hair,  now  a  shade  lighter 
than  her  own. 

Mrs.  Elliott  had  heard  from  her  brother  the  story 
of  Dora's  shorn  locks,  and  the  braid  of  hair  was  far 
more  valuable  to  her,  now  that  she  knew  upon  whose 
head  it  had  grown.  In  her  next  letter  to  her  brother, 
she  spoke  of  the  discovery,  and  he  could  not  forbear 
mentioning  the  circumstances  to  Eugenia,  who,  not 
suspecting  how  much  he  knew  of  the  matter,  an- 
swered indifferently,  "  Isn't  it  funny  how  things  do 
come  round  ?  Dora  had  so  much  of  the  headache 
that  we  thought  it  best  to  cut  off  her  hair,  which  she 


122  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

wished  me  to  sell  for  her  in  Eochester.     I  think  ghe 
was  always  a  little  penurious  ! " 

Wholly  disgusted  with  this  fresh  proof  of  her  du- 
plicity, Mr.  Hastings  could  scarcely  refrain  from  up- 
braiding her  for  her  perfidy,  but  thinking  the  time 
had  not  yet  come,  he  restrained  his  wrath,  and  when 
next  he  spoke,  it  was  to  tell  her  of  &  foreign  tour 
which  he  intended  making. 

"  I  have  long  wished  to  visit  the  old  world/'  said 
he,  "  and  as  there  is  nothing  in  particular  to  prevent 
my  doing  so,  I  shall  probably  start  the  first  of  June. 
I  should  go  sooner,  but  I  prefer  being  on  the  ocean 
in  the  summer  season." 

For  a  moment  Eugenia  grew  faint,  fancying  she 
saw  an  end  of  all  her  hopes,  but  soon  rallying,  she 
expatiated  largely  upon  the  pleasure  and  advantages 
to  be  derived  from  a  tour  through  Europe,  saying, 
"  it  was  a  happiness  she  had  herself  greatly  desired, 
but  should  probably  never  realize." 

"  Not  if  you  depend  upon  me  for  an  escort,"  thought 
Mr.  Hastings,  who,  soon  after,  took  his  leave. 

Much  Eugenia  wondered  whether  he  would  ask 
the  important  question,  and  take  her  with  him,  and 
concluding  at  last  that  he  would,  she  secretly  made 
some  preparations  for  the  expected  journey  !  But 
alas  for  her  hopes  !  The  spring  went  by  the  sum- 
mer came,  and  she  was  still  Eugenia  Deane,  when  one 
evening  towards  the  middle  of  June,  Mr.  Hastings 
came  over  to  say  good-by,  as  he  was  intending  to 
start  next  morning  for  New  York,  or  rather  for  his 
sister's  country  seat  on  the  Hudson,  where  she  was 
now  spending  the  summer.  This  was  a  death-blow 
to  Eugenia,  who  could  scarcely  appear  natural. 
Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  once  when  she  attempted 
to  tell  him  how  lonely  Eose  Hill  would  be  without 
him,  she  failed  entirely  for  want  of  voice. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE. 

"  How  hoarse  you  are.  Have  you  a  cold,"  said 
Mr.  Hastings,  and  that  was  all  the  notice  he  took  of 
her  emotion. 

Fearing  lest  he  should  suspect  her  real  feelings,  she 
tried  to  compose  herself,  and  after  a  time  said,  jok- 
ingly, "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  going  to 
take  you  a  wife  from  some  of  the  city  belles/' 

"  Oh,  no/'  he  answered  lightly.  "  Time  enough 
to  think  of  that  when  I  return/' 

This  gave  her  hope,  and  she  bore  the  parting  better 
than  she  could  otherwise  have  done. 

"  You  will  not  forget  me  entirely,  I  trust,"  she 
said,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered.  "  That  would  be  impos- 
sible. I  have  many  reasons  which  you  do  not  per- 
haps suspect,  for  remembering  you  I  By  the  way," 
he  continued,  "have  you  any  message  for  Dora  1  I 
shall  probably  see  her  as  she  is  with  my  sister/' 

"  Give  her  my  love,"  answered  Eugenia,  "  and  tell 
her  to  write  more  definitely  of  her  situation.  She 
never  particularizes,  but  merely  says  she  is  very  happy. 
I  do  hope  Mrs.  Elliott  will  make  something  of  her  1* 

The  next  moment  Mr.  Hastings's  good-by  was 
ringing  in  her  ears,  and  he  was  gone.  Seating  her- 
self upon  the  stairs,  and  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  Eugenia  wept  bitterly,  and  this  was  their 
parting. 

One  week  later  and  at  the  same  hour  in  the  eve- 
ning, Mr.  Hastings  sat  in  his  sister's  pleasant  parlor, 
looking  out  upon  the  blue  waters  of  the  Hudson,  and 
wondering  why,  as  the  time  for  his  departure  drew 
near,  his  heart  should  cling  so  fondly  to  the  friends 
he  was  to  leave  behind.  "  I  shall  see  them  again  if 
I  live,"' he  said,  "  and  why  this  dread  of  bidding  them 
farewell?*' 

At  this  moment  his  sister  entered  the  room,  bring 


124  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

ing  to  him  a  letter  from  a  rich  old  Texan  bachelor, 
who  was  spending  the  summer  with  some  friends  in 
the  vicinity  of  her  home.  It  was  directed  to  the 
"  Guardians  of  Dora  Deane/'  and  asked  permission 
to  address  her !  He  had  seen  her  occasionally  at 
Mrs.  Elliott's  house,  had  met  her  frequently  in  his 
morning  rambles,  and  the  heart  which  for  forty-five 
years  had  withstood  the  charms  of  northern  beauties 
and  southern  belles,  was  won  by  the  modest  little 
country  girl,  and  he  would  make  her  his  wife,  would 
bear  her  to  his  luxurious  home,  where  her  slightest 
wish  should  be  his  law.  With  a  curious  smile  upon 
her  lip,  Mrs.  Elliott  road  this  letter  through,  and 
then  without  a  word  to  Dora,  carried  it  to  her 
brother,  watching  him  while  he  read  it,  and  smiling 
Btill  more  when  she  saw  the  flush  upon  his  brow,  and 
the  unnatural  light  in  his  eye. 

"  Have  you  talked  with  Dora  ?  "  he  said,  when  he 
had  finished  reading. 

"  No,  1  have  not,"  answered  his  sister.  "  I  thought 
I  would  leave  that  to  you,  for  in  case  she  should  ask 
my  advice,  my  fear  of  losing  her  might  influence  me 
too  much." 

"  Louise,"  he  exclaimed,  leaning  forward  so  that 
his  hot  breath  touched  her  cheek,  "you  surely  do 
not  believe  that  Dora  Deane  cares  aught  for  that  old 
man.  She  is  nothing  but  a  child." 

"  She  is  seventeen  next  November,"  said  Mrs. 
Elliott,  "  almost  as  old  as  Ella  was  when  first  you 
were  engaged,  and  how  can  we  tell  how  often  she 
has  thought  of  matrimony  ?  Mr.  Trevors  is  a  man 
of  unexceptionable  character,  and  though  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,  he  is  immensely  wealthy,  and  thisj 
you  know,  makes  a  vast  difference  with  some 
girls." 

"  But  not  with  her— not  with  Dora  Deane,  Fn> 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  12$ 

3nr«,"  he  said.  "  Where  is  she  ?  Send  her  to  me, 
and  I  will  see." 

Dora's  governess,  who  had  accompanied  them  to 
the  country,  was  sometimes  very  exacting,  and  this 
day  she  had  been  unusually  cross,  on  account  of  her 
pupil's  having  failed  in  one  or  two  lessons. 

"  I'll  report  you  to  Mr.  Hastings,  and  see  what  he 
can  do,"  she  had  said  as  she  hurled  the  French  Gram- 
mar back  upon  the  table. 

This  threat  Dora  had  forgotten,  until  told  that 
Mr.  Hastings  had  sent  for  her ;  then,  fancying  he 
wished  to  reprimand  her,  she  entered  the  parlor 
reluctantly,  and  rather  timidly  took  a  seat  upon  an 
ottoman  near  the  window,  where  he  was  sitting. 

During  Dora's  residence  with  Mrs.  Elliott,  she  had 
improved  much,  both  in  manner  and  personal  ap- 
pearance, and  others  than  the  Texan  planter  called 
her  beautiful.  The  brownish  hue,  which  her  skin 
had  acquired  from  frequent  exposure,  was  giving  way 
to  a  clearer  and  more  brilliant  complexion,  while  the 
peculiarly  sweet  expression  of  her  deep  blue  eyes 
would  have  made  a  plain  face  handsome.  But  Dora's 
chief  point  of  beauty  lay  in  her  hair — her  beautiful 
hair  of  reddish  brown.  It  had  grown  rapidly,  fully 
verifying  Alice's  prediction,  and  in  heavy  shining 
braids  was  worn  around  her  classically  shaped  head. 
And  Dora  sat  there  very  still — demurely  waiting  for 
Mr.  Hastings  to  speak,  wondering  if  he  would  be 
severe,  and  at  last  laughing  aloud  when,  in  place  of 
the  expected  rebuke,  he  asked  if  she  knew  Mr. 
Trevors. 

"  Excuse  me,*'  she  said,  as  she  saw  his  look  of 
surprise,  "  Miss  Johnson  threatened  to  report  me  for 
indolence,  and  I,  thought  you  were  going  to  scold 
me.  Yes,  I  know  Mr.  Trevors.  I  rode  Horseback 
with  him  last  week.** 


126  DORA  DEANE,  OK, 

A  pang  shot  through  Mr.  Hastings's  heart,  bnt 
he  continued,  holding  up  the  letter,  "  He  has  sued 
for  your  hand.  He  asks  you  to  be  his  wife.  Will  you 
answer  yes  ?  " 

And  trembling  with  excitement,  he  awaited  her 
reply,  while  the  revelation  of  a  new  light  was  faintly 
dawning  upon  him. 

"Mr.  Trevors  wish  me  to  be  his  wife— that  old 
man  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  slightly  pale.  "  It 
cannot  be  ;  let  me  read  the  letter."  And  tak;t>g  it 
from  his  hand,  she  stood  beneath  the  chandelier,  and 
read  it  through,  while  Mr.  Hastings  scanned  her 
face  to  see  if  he  could  detect  aught  to  verify  his  fears. 

But  there  was  nothing,  and  breathing  more  freely, 
he  said,  as  she  returned  to  him  the  letter,  "  Sit 
down  here,  Dora,  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  say  to 
him.  Bnt  first  consider  well,  Mr.  Trevors  is  rich, 
and  if  money  can  make  you  happy,  you  will  be  so  aa 
his  wife." 

Dora  did  not  know  why  it  was,  but  she  could  not 
endure  to  hear  him  talk  in  such  a  calm,  unconcerned 
manner  of  what  was  so  revolting.  It  grieved  her, 
and  laying  her  head  upon  the  broad  window  seat,  she 
began  to  cry.  Mr.  Hastings  did  not  this  time  say 
"Dora,  my  child,"  for  Louise  had  told  him  she  waa 
not  a  child,  and  he  began  to  think  so,  too.  Drawing 
his  chair  nearer  to  her,  and  laying  his  hand  upon, 
her  hair,  he  said  gently,  "  will  you  answer  me  ? 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  somewhat  bitterly.  "  If  Mrs. 
Elliott  is  tired  of  me,  I  will  go  away,  but  not  with 
Mr.  Trevors.  I  would  rather  die  than  marry  a  man 
I  did  not  love,  because  of  his  gold." 

"Noble  girl  I"  was  Mr.  Hastings's  involuntary  ex« 
clamation  it,  but  Dora  did  not  hear  it,  and  looking 
him  in  his  face,  she  said.  "  do  yon  wi»h  me  to  mam 
him?" 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  1 27 

"Never,  never, *  he  answered,  "him,  nor  any  one 
else!" 

"  Then  tell  him  so,"  said  she,  unmindful  of  th« 
latter  part  of  the  remark.  "  Tell  him  I  respect  him, 
but  I  cannot  be  hiu  wife/' 

And  rising  to  her  feet  she  left  the  room,  to  wash 
away  in  another  fit  of  tears  the  excitement  produced 
by  her  first  offer. 

Very  still  sat  Mr.  Hastings  when  she  was  gone, 
thought  after  thought  crowding  fast  upon  him,  and 
half  bewildering  him  by  their  intensity.  He  could 
answer  Louise's  question  now  !  It  had  come  to  him 
at  lust,  sitting  there  with  Mr.  Trevor's  letter  in  his 
hand,  and  Dora  at  his  feet.  Dora  who  was  so  dear 
to  him,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  to  her 
Bide,  and  sue  for  the  love  she  could  not  give  the  gray- 
haired  Texan. 

"And  she  will  not  tell  me  nay,"  he  said.  "It 
will  come  to  her  as  it  has  to  me — the  love  we  have 
unconsciously  borne  each  other." 

lie  arose  to  leave  the  room,  but  meeting  his  sister 
in  the  door,  he  turned  back,  and  seating  himself  with 
her  in  the  deep  recess  of  the  window,  he  told  her  of 
the  mighty  love  which  had  been  so  long  maturing, 
and  of  whose  existence  he  did  not  dream  until 
another  essayed  to  come  between  him  and  the  object 
of  his  affection. 

"And,  Louise,"  he  said,  "  Dora  Deane  must  be 
mine.  Are  you  willing — will  you  call  her  sister, 
and  treat  her  as  my  wife  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Elliott  answered,  "1  know,  my  brother, 
that  you  love  Dora  Deane.  I  knew  it  when  I  asked 
you  that  question,  and  if  to-night  1  tried  to  tease 
YOU  by  making  you  believe  it  possible  that  she  cared 
lor  Mr.  Trevors,  it  was  to  show  you  the  nature  of 
your  feelings  for  her  And  I  am  willing  that  it 


DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

should  be  so— bnt  not  yet.  Yon  must  not  speak  to 
her  of  love,  until  yon  return.  Hear  me  out,"  she 
continued,  as  she  saw  in  him  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
•'"Dora  is  no  longer  a  child — but  she  is  too  young  to 
be  trammeled  with  an  engagement.  And  it  must 
not  be.  You  must  leave  her  free  till  she  has  seen  f 
more  of  the  world,  and  her  mind  is  more  mature." 

"  Free  till  another  wins  her  from  me/'  interrupted 
Mr.  Hastings,  somewhat  bitterly  ;  and  his  sister  an- 
Bwered,  "  I  am  sure  that  will  never  be,  though  were 
you  now  to  startle  her  with  your  love  she  probably 
would  refuse  you." 

"  Never"  he  said  emphatically ;  and  Mrs.  Ellioti 
replied,  "  I  think  she  would.     She  respects  and  ad 
mires  yon,  bnt  as  yon  have  looked  upon  her  as  a  child, 
eo  in  like  manner  has  she  regarded  you  as  a  father 
or,  at  least  the  husband  of  Ella,  and  such  impres- 
Bious  must  have  time  to  wear  away.     Yon  would  not 
take  her  with  yon,  and  it  is  better  to  leave  her  as  sb.6 
is.    I  will  watch  over  her  and  geek  to  make  her  what 
your  wife  ought  to  be,  and  when  yon  return  she  will 
be  older,  will  be  capable  of  judging  for  herself,  and 
she  will  not  tell  yon  no.     Do  you  not  think  my  rea- 
soning good  ?  *' 

"  I  suppose  it  is/'  he  replied,  "  though  it  is  sadly 
at  variance  with  my  wishes.  Were  I  sure  no  one 
would  come  between  us,  I  could  more  easily  follow  ' 
your  advice,  and  were  it  not  that  I  go  for  her,  I 
wonld  give  up  my  journey  at  once,  and  stay  where 
I  could  watch  and  see  that  no  one  came  near." 

"This  I  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  Elliott,  "and  I  fancy 
I  can  keep  her  safe  for  you." 

Awhile  longer  they  talked  together,  and  their  con- 
versation was  at  last  interrupted  by  the  appearance 
Of  Dora  herself  who  came  to  say  good  night. 

"Come  and  sit  by  me,  Dora,*  said  Mr.  Boating* 


THE  EAST  JtfDIA  UNCLE.  I*) 

Unmindful  of  his  sister's  warning  glance.  "  Let  me 
tell  you  what  I  wish  you  to  do  while  I  am  gone,"  and 
moving  along  upon  the  sofa,  he  left  a  place  for  her 
at  his  side. 

Scarcely  was  she  seated  when  a  servant  appeared, 
wishing  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Elliott,  and  Mr.  Hast- 
ings was  left  alone  with  Dora,  with  whom  he  merely 
talked  of  what  he  hoped  to  find  her  when  he  returned. 
Once,  indeed,  he  told  her  how  often  he  should  think 
of  her,  when  he  was  far  away,  and  asksd.  as  a  keep- 
sake a  lock  of  her  soft  hair. 

Three  days  afterwards  he  went  to  New  York  ac- 
companied by  Mrs.  Elliott  and  Dora.  He  was  to 
sail  next  morning,  and  wishing  to  see  as  much  of 
*,he  latter  as  possible,  he  felt  somewhat  chagrined 
when,  soon  after  their  arrival,  his  sister  insisted 
upon  taking  her  out  for  a  time,  and  forbade  "lim  to 
follow.  For  this  brief  separation,  howeve%  he  was 
amply  repaid  when,  on  the  morrow,  his  sister,  who 
went  with  him  on  board  the  vessel,  pJ*.ced  in  hia 
hand  at  parting  a  daguerreotype,  which  the  told  him 
not  to  open  till  she  was  gone.  He  obeyed,  and 
while  Dora  in  his  sister's  home  was  weeping  that  he 
had  left  them,  he  in  his  state-room  was  gazing  rap- 
turously on  a  fair  young  face,  which,  looking  out 
from  its  handsome  casing,  wonld  speak  to  him  many 
a  word  of  comfort  when  he  was  afar  on,  the  lonely  sea. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

MB.  HASTINGS  1ST  IKDIA. 

IT  was  night  again  in  Calcutta,  and  in  the  same 
room  where  we  first  found  him  was  Nathaniel  Deane 
—not  alone  this  time,  lor  standing  before  him  was 
9 


I3O  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

a  stranger — "  an  American,"  he  called  himself, 
and  the  old  East  Indiaman,  when  he  heard  that  word, 
grasped  again  the  hand  of  his  unknown  gnest,  whose 
face  he  curiously  scanned  to  see  if  before  he  had 
looked  upon  it.  But  he  had  not,  and  pointing  him 
to  a  chair,  he  too  sat  down  to  hear  his  errand. 
Wishing  to  know  something  of  the  character  of  the 
individual  he  had  come  so  far  to  see,  Mr.  Hastings, 
for  he  it  was,  conversed  awhile  upon  a  variety  of 
subjects,  until,  feeling  sure  that  'twas  a  noble,  up» 
right  man,  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  he  said,  "  I 
told  you,  sir,  that  I  came  from  New  York,  and  so  I 
did  ;  but  my  home  is  in  Duuwood." 

One  year  ago,  and  Uncle  Nat  would  have  started 
with  delight  at  the  mention  of  a  place  so  fraught 
with  remembrances  of  Dora,  but  Eugenia's  last  cruel 
letter  had  chilled  his  love,  and  now,  when  he  thought 
of  Dora,  it  was  as  one  incapable  of  either  affection 
or  gratitude.  So,  for  a  moment  he  was  silent,  and 
Mr.  Hastings,  thinking  he  had  not  been  understood, 
was  about  to  repeat  his  remark,  when  Uncle  Nat 
replied,  "  My  brother's  widow  lives  in  Dunwood— 
Mrs.  Richard  Deane — possibly  you  may  have  seen 
her ! "  And  with  a  slight  degree  of  awakened  in- 
terest, the  little  keen  black  eyes  looked  out  from 
under  their  thick  shaggy  eyebrows  at  Mr.  Hastings, 
who  answered,  "  I  know  the  family  well.  Dora  is 
not  now  at  home,  but  is  living  with  my  sister." 

Many  and  many  a  time  had  Uncle  Nat  repeated 
to  himself  the  name  of  Dora,  but  never  before  had 
he  heard  it  from  other  lips,  and  the  sound  thrilled 
him  strangely,  bringing  back  in  a  moment  all  hig 
olden  love  for  one  whose  mother  had  been  so  dear. 
In  the  jet  black  eyes  there  was  a  dewy  softness  now, 
and  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  a  deep  tenderness,  as, 
drawing  nearer  to  his  guest,  he  said  m  a  half  whisper/ 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  1 3! 

"  Tell  me  of  Tier — of  Dora — for  though  I  never  saw 
her,  I  knew  her  mother/' 

"  And  loved  her  too,'*  rejoined  Mr.  Hastings,  on 
purpose  to  rouse  up  the  old  man,  who,  starting  to 
Tiis  feet  exclaimed,  "How  knew  you  that?  You, 
whom  I  never  saw  until  to-night !  Who  told  you 
that  I  loved  Fannie  Deane  ?  Yes,  it  is  true,  young 
man — true,  though  love  does  not  express  what  I  felt 
*or  her  ;  she  was  my  all — my  very  life,  and  when  I 
lost  her  the  world  was  a  dreary  blank.  But  go  on — 
tell  me  of  the  child,  and  if  she  is  like  her  mother. 
Though  how  should  you  know  ?  You,  who  never 
saw  my  Fannie  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  returned  Mr.  Hastings,  "  but 
death  was  there  before  me,  and  had  marred  the 
beauty  of  a  face  which  once  must  have  been  lovely. 
Five  years  ago  last  January  I  found  her  dead,  and 
at  her  side  was  Dora,  sweetly  sleeping  with  her  arms 
around  her  mother's  neck." 

"  You — you,"  gasped  the  old  man,  drawing  near 
to  Mr.  Hastings — "you  found  them  thus  !  I  could 
kneel  at  your  feet,  whoever  you  may  be,  and  bless 
you  for  coming  here  to  tell  me  this ;  I  never  knew 
before  how  Fannie  died.  They  never  wrote  me  that, 
but  go  on  and  tell  me  all  you  know.  Did  Fannie 
freeze  to  death  while  in  India  I  counted  my  gold  by 
hundreds  of  thousands  ?  " 

Briefly  Mr.  Hastings  told  what  he  knew  of  Mrs. 
Deane's  sad  death,  while  the  broad  chest  of  Uncle  Nafc 
heaved  with  broken  sobs,  and  the  big  tears  rolled 
down  his  sunken  cheeks. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  for  tarrying  here,  while  she 
was  suffering  so  much  I "  he  cried  ;  "  but  what  of 
Dora  f  She  did  not  die.  I  have  written  to  her,  and 
sent  her  many  messages,  but  never  a  word  has  she 
replied,  save  once"— here  Uncte  Nat'i  Toioe  grew 


132  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

tremulous  as  he  added,  "  and  then  she  sent  me  thig 
— look — 'twas  Fannie's  hair,"  and  he  held  to  view  a 
silken  tress  much  like  the  one  which  lay  next  How- 
ard Hastings's  heart  !  "  Oh,  what  a  child  it  made 
of  me,  the  first  sight  of  this  soft  hair,"  he  continued, 
carefully  returning  it  to  its  hiding-place,  without  a 
word  of  the  generous  manner  in  which  it  had  been 
paid  for. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  now  ?"  thought  Mr.  Hastings, 
but  Uncle  Nathaniel  spoke  before  him,  and  as  if 
talking  with  himself,  said  softly,  "  Oh,  how  I  loved 
her,  and  what  a  wreck  that  love  has  made  of  me. 
But  I  might  have  known  it.  Twenty-one  years'  differ- 
ence in  our  ages  was  too  great  a  disparity,  even  had 
my  face  been  fair  as  John's.  She  was  seventeen, 
and  1  was  almost  forty  ;  I  am  sixty  now,  and  with 
every  year  added  to  my  useless  life,  my  love  for  her 
has  strengthened." 

"  Could  you  not  transfer  that  love  to  her  daughter  P 
It  might  make  you  happier,"  suggested  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, and  mournfully  shaking  his  head,  Uncle  Nat 
replied,  "  No,  no,  I've  tried  to  win  her  love  so  hard. 
Have  even  thought  of  going  home,  and  taking  her 
to  my  bosom  as  my  own  darling  child — but  to  all  my 
advances,  she  has  turned  a  deaf  ear.  I  could  not 
make  the  mother  love  me — I  cannot  make  the  child. 
It  isn't  in  me,  the  way  how,  and  I  must  live  here  all 
alone.  I  wouldn't  mind  that  so  much,  for  I'm  used 
to  it  now,  but  when  I  come  to  die,  there  will  be  no- 
body to  hold  my  head,  or  to  speak  to  me  a  word  of 
comfort,  unless"  God  sends  Fannie  back  to  me  in  the 
dark  hour,  and  who  knows  but  He  will  ?  n 

Covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  Uncle  Nathaniel 
cried  aloud,  while  Mr.  Hastings,  touched  by  his  grief, 
and  growing  each  moment  more  and  more  indignant, 
at  the  deception  practised  upon  the  lonesome  oW 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  133 

man,  gaid  slowly  and  distinctly  :  "  Dora  Deane  never 
received  your  letter — never  dreamed  how  much  you 
loved  her — never  knew  that  you  had  sent  her  money. 
She  has  been  duped — abused — and  you  most  treach* 
erously  cheated  by  a  base,  designing  ivoman  !  To  tell 
you  this,  sir,  I  have  come  over  land  and  sea  I  1  might 
have  written  it,  but  I  would  rather  meet  you  face  to 
face — would  know  if  you  ivere  worthy  to  be  the  uncle 
of  Dora  Deane!" 

Every  tear  was  dried,  and  bolt  upright,  his  keen 
eyes  flashing  gleams  of  fire,  and  his  glittering  teeth 
ground  firmly  together,  Nathaniel  Deane  sat,  rigid 
and  immovable,  listening  to  the  foul  story  of  Dora's 
wrongs,  till  Mr.  Hastings  came  to  the  withholding 
of  the  letter,  and  the  money  paid  for  Fannie's  hair. 
Then,  indeed,  his  clenched  fists  struck  fiercely  at  the 
empty  air,  as  if  Eugenia  had  been  there,  and  spring- 
ing half  way  across  the  room,  he  exclaimed,  "  The 
wretch!  The  fiend!  TJie  beast!  The  Devil  I 
What  shall  I  call  her  ?  Help  me  to  some  name  which 
will  be  appropriate." 

"You  are  doing  very  well,  I  think,"  said  Mr. 
Hastings,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself  at  this  new 
phase  in  the  character  of  the  excited  man,  who, 
foaming  with  rage,  continued  to  stalk  up  and  dowu 
the  room,  setting  his  feet  upon  the  floor  with  venge- 
ance, and  with  every  breath  denouncing  Eugenia's 
perfidy. 

"  Curse  her  !"  he  muttered,  "for  daring  thus  to 
maltreat  Fannie's  child,  and  for  making  me  to  be- 
lieve her  so  ungrateful  and  unkind.  And  she  once 
cut  off  her  hair  to  buy  a  party  dress  with,  you  say," 
he  continued,  stopping  in  front  of  Mr.  Hastings,  who 
nodded  in  the  affirmative,  while  Uncle  Nat,  as  if 
fancying  that  the  few  thin  locks,  which  grew  upon 
his  own  bald  head,  were  Eugenia's  long,  black  tresses, 


134  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

clutched  at  them  savagely,  exclaiming,  "  The  selfish 
iade  !  But  I  will  be  avenged,  and  Madam  Eugenia 
shall  rue  the  day  that  she  dared  thus  deceive  me. 
That  mother,  too,  had  not,  it  seems,  been  whollj 
guiltless.  She  was  jealous  of  my  Fannie — she  has 
been  cruel  to  my  child.  I'll  remember  that,  too  I  n 
and  a  bitter  laugh  echoed  through  the  room,  as  the 
wrathful  old  man  thought  of  revenge. 

But  as  the  wildest  storm  expends  its  fury,  so  Uncle 
Nat  at  last  grew  calm,  though  on  his  dark  face  there 
were  still  traces  of  the  fierce  passion  which  had 
swept  over  it.  Eesuming  his  seat  and  looking  across 
the  table  at  Mr.  Hastings,  he  said,  "  It  is  not  often 
that  old  Nat  Deane  is  moved  as  you  have  seen  him 
moved  to-night ;  but  the  story  you  told  me  set  me 
on  fire,  and  for  a  moment,  I  felt  that  I  was  going 
mad.  But  I  am  now  myself  again,  and  would  hear 
how  you  learned  all  this." 

In  a  few  words,  Mr.  Hastings  told  of  his  foolish 
fancy  for  Eugenia,  and  related  the  circumstance  of 
his  having  overheard  her  conversation  at  the  hotel 
in  Rochester. 

"  And  Dora,  you  say,  is  beautiful  and  good,"  said 
Uncle  Nat ;  "  and  1  shall  one  day  know  her  and  see 
if  there  is  in  her  aught  like  her  angel  mother,  whose 
features  are  as  perfect  to  me  now  as  when  last  I 
looked  upon  them  beneath  the  locust  trees." 

Bending  low  his  head,  he  seemed  to  be  thinking 
of  the  past,  while  Mr.  Hastings,  kissing  fondly  the 
picture  of  Dora  Deane,  laid  it  softly  upon  the  table, 
and  then  anxiously  awaited  the  result.  Uncle  Na- 
thaniel did  not  see  it  at  first,  but  his  eye  ere  long  fell 
upon  it,  and,  with  a  cry  like  that  which  broke  from 
his  lips  when  first  he  looked  on  his  dead  Fannie's  hair, 
he  caught  it  np,  exclaiming,  "  'Tis  her — 'tis  Fannie— 
my  long-lost  darling,  come  back  to  me  from  the  other 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  135 

ttrorld.  Oh,  Fannie,  Fannie ! "  he  cried,  as  if  his  reason 
were  indeed  unsettled,  "  I've  been  so  lonesome  here 
without  you.  Why  didn't  you  come  before  ?  " 

Again,  for  a  time,  he  was  silent,  and  Mr.  Hastings 
could  see  the  tears  dropping  upon  the  face  of  Dora 
Deane,  who  little  dreamed  of  the  part  she  was  act- 
ing, far  off  in  Hiiidostau.  Slowly  the  reality  dawned 
upon  Uncle  Nat,  and  speaking  to  Mr.  Hastings,  he 
said,  "  Who  are  you  that  moves  me  thus  from  one 
extreme  to  another,  making  me  first  a.  fury  and  then 
a  child  ?  " 

"I  have  told  you  I  am  Howard  Hastings,"  an- 
<wered  the  young  man,  adding  that  the  picture  was 
not  that  of  Fannie,  but  her  child. 

"I  know — I  know  it,"  returned  Uncle  Nat,  "  but 
the  first  sight  of  it  drove  me  from  my  senses,  it  is  so 
like  her.  The  same  open  brow,  the  same  blue  eyes, 
the  same  ripe  lips,  and  more  than  all,  the  same  sweet 
smile  which  shone  on  me  so  often  'mid  the  granite 
hills  of  New  Hampshire.  And  it  is  mine,"  he  contin- 
ued, making  a  movement  to  put  it  away.  "Yon 
brought  it  to  me,  and  in  return,  if  you  have  need  for 
gold,  name  the  sum,  and  it  shall  be  yours,  even  to 
half  a  million." 

Money  could  not  buy  that  picture  from  Howard 
Hastings,  and  though  it  grieved  him  to  do  so,  he  said, 
very  gently,  "  I  cannot  part  Avith  the  likeness,  Mr. 
Deane,  but  we  will  share  it  together  until  the  orig- 
inal is  gained." 

Leaning  upon  his  elbows  and  looking  steadily  at 
his  visitor,  Uncle  Nathaniel  said,  "  You  have  been 
married  once  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Hastings,  while  his  coun- 
tenance flushed,  for  he  readily  understood  the  na- 
ture of  the  questioning  to  which  he  was  to  be  sub- 
jected. 


136  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"What  was  the  name  of  your  wife  ?"  was  the  next 
query,  and  Mr.  Hastings  replied,  "  Ella  Grey." 

"Will  you  describe  her?"  said  Uncle  Nat,  and 
Almost  as  vividly  as  the  features  of  Dora  Deane  were 
delineated  by  the  artist's  power,  did  Mr.  Hastings 
portray  by  word  the  laughing  blue  eyes,  the  pale, 
childish  face,  the  golden  curls,  and  little  airy  form 
of  her  who  had  once  slept  upon  his  bosom  as  his  wife. 

"  And  did  you  love  her,  this  Ella  Grey  ? "  asked 
Uncle  Nat. 

"  Love  her  ?  Yes.  But  she  is  dead,"  answered 
Mr.  Hastings,  while  Uncle  Nat  continued  : 

"  And  now  if  I  mistake  not,  you  love  Dora 
Deane  ?  " 

"  Yes,  better  than  my  life,"  said  Mr.  Hastings, 
firmly.  "  Have  you  any  objections  ?" 

"None  whatever,"  answered  Uncle  Nat,  "for, 
though  you  are  a  stranger  to  me,  there  is  that  in 
your  face  which  tells  me  you  would  make  my  darling 
nappy.  But  it  puzzles  me  to  know  how,  loving  one 
as  you  say  you  did,  you  can  forget  and  love  another." 

"I  have  not  forgotten,"  said  Mr.  Hastings,  sadly; 
"  God  forbid  that  I  should  e'er  forget  my  Ella  ;  but, 
Mr.  Deane,  though  she  was  good  and  gentle,  she 
was  not  suited  to  me.  Our  minds  were  wholly  un- 
like ;  for  what  I  most  appreciated,  was  utterly  dis« 
tasteful  to  her.  She  was  a  fair,  beautiful  little 
feature,  but  she  did  not  satisfy  the  higher,  nobler 
Jeelings  of  my  heart ;  and  she,  too,  knew  it.  She 
told  me  so  before  she  died,  and  spoke  of  a  coming 
time  when  I  would  love  another.  She  did  not  men- 
tion Dora,  who  then  seemed  like  a  child,  but  could 
she  now  come  back  to  me,  she  would  approve  my 
choice,  for  she,  too,  loved  Dora  Deane.  ** 

"Have  you  told  her  this?"  asked  Uncle  Nat— - 
"  told  Dora  bow  much  you  loved  her  P  " 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  137 

•'  I  have  not,"  was  Mr.  Hastings^  reply.  "  My 
sister  would  not  suffer  it  until  my  return,  when  Dora 
will  be  more  mature.  At  first  I  would  not  listen  to 
this ;  but  I  yielded  at  last,  consenting  the  more  will- 
ingly to  the  long  separation,  when  I  considered  that 
wibh  Louise  she  was  at  least  safe  from  Eugenia,  and 
I  hope,  safe  from  any  who  might  seek  either  to 
liarm  her,  or  win  her  from  me." 

"  You  spoke  of  having  stopped  in  Europe  on  your 
way  hither,"  said  Uncle  Nat.  "  How  long  is  it  since 
you  left  New  York?" 

"  I  sailed  from  there  the  latter  part  of  June,  al- 
most ten  months  ago,"  was  Mr.  Hastings's  answer, 
adding  that,  as  he  wished  to  visit  some  parts  of 
Europe,  and  left  home  with  the  ostensible  purpose  of 
doing  so,  he  had  thought  it  advisable  to  stop  there 
on  his  way,  for  he  well  knew  that  Mr.  Deane,  after 
learning  why  he  had  come,  would  be  impatient  to 
return  immediately. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  yon  are  right,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  I  would  go  to-morrow  if  possible  ;  but  I  shall  prob- 
ably never  return  to  India,  and  I  must  make  some 
arrangements  for  leaving  my  business  iu  the  hands 
of  others.  Were  Dora  still  in  Eugenia's  power,  I 
would  not  tarry  a  moment,  I  would  sacrifice  every, 
thing  to  save  her,  but  as  you  say  she  is  safe  with  your 
Bister,  and  a  few  weeks'  delay,  though  annoying  to 
me,  will  make  no  difference  with  her.  Do  they  know 
aught  of  this — those  wretches  in  Dunwood  ?"  he 
continued,  beginning  to  grow  excited. 

"  They  suppose  me  to  be  in  Europe,  for  to  no  one 
save  my  mother  and  sister,  did  I  breathe  a  word  of 
India,"  Mr.  Hastings  replied ;  and  Uncle  Nat  re- 
joined, "  Let  them  continue  to  think  so,  then.  I 
would  rather  they  should  not  suspect  my  presence 
in  America  until  I  meet  them  face  to  face,  and  taunt 


138  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

them  with  their  treachery.  It  shall  not  be  long, 
cither,  before  I  do  it.  In  less  than  a  mouth,  we  ara 
homeward  bound — and  then,  Miss  Eugenia  Deane-— 
we'll  see!"  and  his  hard  fist  came  down  upon  the 
table,  as  he  thought  of  her  dismay  when  told  that 
he  stood  before  her. 

But  alas  for  Uncle  Nat  !  The  time  was  farther 
in  the  distance  than  he  anticipated.  The  excitement 
v)f  what  he  had  heard,  told  upon  a  frame  already 
weakened  by  constant  toil  and  exposure  in  the  sultry 
climate  of  India,  and  one  week  from  the  night  of 
Mr.  Hastings's  arrival,  the  old  man  lay  burning  with 
fever,  which  Avas  greatly  augmented  by  the  constant 
chafing  at  the  delay  this  unexpected  illness  would 
cause.  Equally  impatient,  Mr.  Hastings  watched 
over  him,  while  his  heart  grew  faint  with  hope  de- 
ferred, as  weeks,  and  even  months,  glided  by  ;  while 
vessel  after  vessel  sailed  away,  leaving  Uncle  Nat 
prostrate  and  powerless  to  move.  He  had  never  been 
sick  before  in  all  his  life,  and  his  shattered  frame 
was  long  in  rallying,  so  that  the  summer,  and  the 
autumn  and  a  part  of  the  winter  passed  away,  ere, 
leaning  heavily  on  Mr.  Hiistings's  arm,  he  went  on 
board  the  ship  which  was  to  take  him  home — take 
him  to  Dora  Deane,  who  had  listened  wonderingly 
to  the  story  of  her  wrongs,  told  her  by  Mrs.  Elliott 
at  Mr.  Hastings's  request. 

Indignant  as  she  was  at  Eugenia,  she  felt  more 
than  repaid  for  all  she  had  suffered,  by  the  knowledge 
that  Uncle  Nat  had  always  loved  her ;  and  many  a 
cheering  letter  from  her  found  its  way  to  the  bed- 
Bide  of  the  invalid,  who  laid  each  one  beneath  his 
pillow,  beside  the  picture  which  Mr.  Hastings  suffered 
him  to  keep.  More  than  once,  too,  had  Dora  written 
to  Mr.  Hastings  kind,  sisterly  notes,  with  which  he 
tried  to  be  satisfied,  for  he  saw  that  she  was  tne 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE,  139 

same  frank,  ingenuous  girl  he  had  left,  and  from  one 
or  two  things  which  she  wrote,  he  fancied  he  was 
Tiot  indifferent  to  her.  "  She  did  not,  at  least,  care 
for  another,"  so  Louiso  assured  him.  There  was 
comfort  in  that,  and  during  the  weary  days  when 
their  floating  home  lay,  sometimes  becalmed  and 
sometimes  tossed  by  adverse  winds,  he  and  Uncle 
Nat  whiled  away  the  tedious  hours,  by  talking  of  the 
happiness  which  awaited  them  when  home  was 
reached  at  last. 

During  Mr.  Deane's  illness,  Mr.  Hastings  had  sug- 
gested that  the  annual  remittance  be  sent  to  Dunwood, 
as  usual,  lest  they  should  suspect  that  something 
was  wrong,  if  it  were  withheld,  and  to  this  Uncle 
Nat  reluctantly  consented  saying,  as  he  did  so,  "It's 
the  last  dime  they'll  ever  receive  from  me.  I'll  see 
her  starve  before  my  eyes,  that  girl  Eugenia." 

Still,  as  the  distance  between  himself  and  the 
young  lady  diminished,  he  felt  a  degree  of  satisfaction 
in  knowing  that  the  draft  had  as  usual  been  sent, 
thus  lulling  her  into  a  state  of  security  with  regard 
to  himself.  Rapturously  he  talked  of  the  meeting 
with  Dora,  but  his  eye  was  fiery  in  its  expression 
when  he  spoke  of  that  other  meeting,  when  Eugenia 
would  be  the  accused  and  he  the  wrathful  accuser. 
The  invigorating  sea  breeze  did  him  good,  and  when 
at  last  the  Cape  was  doubled  and  he  knew  that  the 
waves  which  dashed  against  the  ship,  bore  the  same 
name  with  those  which  kissed  the  snores  of  America, 
he  stood  forth  upon  the  deck,  tall  and  erect  as  ever, 
with  an  eager,  expectant  look  in  his  eye,  which  in- 
creased as  he  each  day  felt  that  he  drew  nearer  aud 
nearer  to  his  home — and  Dora  Deane. 


140  DORA  DEANS,  OR, 

CHAPTER  XDL 

THE  MEETING. 

OffE  bright,  beautiful  summer  morning,  a  noble 
V eesel  was  sailing  slowly  into  the  harbor  of  New  York. 
Uroups  of  passengers  stood  upon  her  deck,  and  a 
iittle  apart  from  the  rest  were  Uncle  Nat  and 
Howard  Hastings,  the  former  gazing  eagerly  towards 
the  city,  which  had  more  than  doubled  its  population 
since  last  he  looked  upon  it. 

"  We  are  almost  home,"  he  said  to  his  companion, 
ioyfully,  for  though  the  roof  that  sheltered  his  child- 
hood was  further  to  the  northward,  among  the 
granite  hills,  he  knew  that  it  was  America,  the  land 
of  his  birth,  which  lay  before  him,  and  as  a  child  re- 
turns to  its  mother  after  a  long  and  weary  absence, 
BO  did  his  heart  yearn  towards  the  shore  they  were 
fast  approaching. 

A  crowd  of  memories  came  rushing  over  him,  and 
when,  at  last,  the  plank  was  lowered,  he  was  obliged 
to  lean  upon  the  stronger  arm  of  Howard  Hastings, 
who,  procuring  a  carriage,  bade  the  hackman  drive 
them  at  once  to  his  sister's.  For  some  time  Mrs. 
Elliott  and  Dora  had  been  looking  for  the  travelers, 
whose  voyage  was  unusually  long,  and  they  had  felt 
many  misgivings  lest  the  treacherous  sea  had  not  been 
faithful  to  its  trust ;  but  this  morning  they  were  not 
expecting  them,  and  wishing  to  make  some  arrange- 
ments for  removing  to  her  country  seat  on  the  Hudson, 
Mrs.  Elliott  had  gone  out  there  and  taken  Dora  with 
her.  Mr.  Hastings's  first  impulse  was  to  follow 
them,  but  knowing  that  they  would  surely  be  home 
that  night,  and  remembering  how  weary  Uncle 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  141 

Nathaniel  was,  he  wisely  concluded  to  remain  in  the 
city  and  surprise  them  on  their  return. 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  Uncle  Nat  walked  from  room 
to  room,  asking  every  half  hour  if  it  were  not  almost 
time  for  the  train,  and  wondering  if  Dora  would  rec- 
ognize him  if  no  one  told  her  who  he  was.  Scarcely 
less  excited,  Mr.  Hastings,  too,  waited  and  watched  ; 
and  when,  just  at  dark,  he  heard  the  door  unclose, 
ind  Dora's  voice  in  the  hall  without,  the  rapid  beat- 
ing of  his  heart  was  distinctly  audible. 

"  That's  her — that's  Dora.  I'll  go  to  her  at  once," 
said  Uncle  Nat ;  but  Mr.  Hastings  kept  him  back, 
and  Dora  passed  on  to  her  room,  from  which  she  soon 
returned,  and  they,  could  hear  the  sound  of  her  foot- 
steps upon  the  stairs,  as  she  drew  near. 

With  his  face  of  a  deathlike  whiteness,  his  lips 
apart,  and  the  perspiration  standing  thickly  about 
them,  Uncle  Nat  sat  leaning  forward,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  door  through  which  she  would  enter.  In 
a  moment  she  stood  before  them — Dora  Deane — but 
far  more  lovely  than  Mr.  Hastings  had  thought  or 
dreamed.  Nearly  two  years  before,  he  had  left  her 
a  school  girl,  as  it  were,  and  now  he  found  her  a 
beautiful  woman,  bearing  about  her  an  unmistakable 
air  of  refinement  and  high  breeding.  She  knew  him 
in  an  instant,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  surprised 
delight,  was  hastening  forward,  when  a  low,  moaning 
cry,  from  another  part  of  the  room,  arrested  her  oar, 
causing  her  to  pause  ere  Mr.  Hastings  was  reached. 
Uncle  Nat  had  recognized  her — knew  that  she  was 
Dora  and  attempted  to  rise,  but  his  strength  utterly 
failed  him  and  stretching  out  his  trembling  arms  to- 
wards her,  he  said  supplicatingly,"  Me  first,  Dora  me 
first." 

It  was  sufficient,  and  Dora  passed  on  with  a  welcom- 
ing glance  at  Mr.  Hastings,  who  feeling  that  it  was 


142  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

not  for  him  to  witness  that  meeting,  glided  noiselessly 
from  the  room  in  quest  of  his  sister.  Fondly  the  old 
man  clasped  the  young  girl  to  his  bosom,  and  Dora 
could  hear  the  whispered  blessings  which  he  breathed 
over  her,  and  felt  the  hot  tears  dropping  on  her  cheek. 

" Speak  to  me,  darling,"  he  said  at  last;  "let 
me  hear  your  own  voice  assuring  me  that  never  again 
shall  we  be  parted  until  your  mother  calls  for  me  to 
come  and  be  with  her." 

Looking  lovingly  up  into  his  f  ace,Dora  answered,*  1 
will  never  leave  nor  forsake  you,  my  father,  but  where- 
ever  your  home  may  be  there  will  mine  be  also." 

Clasping  her  still  closer  in  his  arms,  he  said,  "  God 
bless  you,  my  c^iM,  for  so  I  will  call  you,  and  never, 
I  am  sure,  did  eartiuy  parent  love  more  fondly  an 
only  daughter  than  I  love  you,  ray  .precious  Dora. 
I  have  yearned  so  often  to  behold  you,  to  look  into 
your  eyes  and  hear  you  say  that  I  was  loved,  and  now 
that  it  has  come  to  me,  I  am  willing,  almost,  to  die." 

Releasing  her  after  a  moment,  and  holding  her  oft 
at  a  little  distance,  he  looked  earnestly  upon  her, 
eaying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Yes,  you  are  like  her — like 
your  mother,  Dora.  Some,  perhaps,  would  call 
you  even  more  beautiful,  but  to  me  there  is  not  in 
all  the  world  a  face  more  fair  than  hers." 

In  his  delight  at  seeing  her,  he  forgot  for  the  time 
being  how  deeply  she  had  been  injured,  and  it  was 
well  that  he  did,  for  now  nothing  marred  the  hap- 
piness of  this  meeting,  and  for  half  an  hour  longer 
he  sat  with  her  alone,  talking  but  little,  but  looking 
ever  at  the  face  so  much  like  her  whom  he  had 
loved  and  lost.  At  last,  as  if  suddenly  remember- 
ing himself,  he  said,  "  Excuse  me,  Dora  ;  the  sight 
of  you  drove  every  other  thought  from  my  mind,  and 
I  have  kept  you  too  long  from  one  who  loves  you 
equally  well  with  myself,  and  who  must  be  impatient 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  143 

at  the  delay.  He  is  worthy  of  you,  too,  my  child/' 
he  continued,  without  observing  how  the  color  faded 
from  Dora's  cheek.  "He  is  a  noble  young  man, 
and  no  son  was  ever  kinder  to  a  father  than  he  has 
been  to  me,  since  the  night  when  I  welcomed  him  to 
my  home  in  India.  Go  to  him,  then,  my  daughter, 
and  ask  him  to  forgive  my  selfish  ness. " 

From  several  little  occurrences,  Dora  had  received 
the  impression  that  a  marriage  between  herself  and 
Mr.  Hastings  would  not  be  distasteful  to  his  sister, 
but  she  had  treated  the  subject  lightly  as  something 
impossible.  Still  the  thought  of  his  loving  another 
was  fraught  with  pain,  and  when  at  last  she  knew 
that  he  Avas  on  the  stormy  sea,  and  felt  that  danger 
might  befall  him — when  the  faces  of  his  mother  and 
sister  wore  an  anxious,  troubled  look  as  days  went 
by,  bringing  them  no  tidings — when  she  thought  it 
just  possible  that  he  would  never  return  to  them 
again,  it  came  to  her  just  as  two  years  before  it  had 
come  to  him,  and  sitting  alone  in  her  pleasant  cham- 
ber, she,  more  than  once  had  wept  bitterly,  as  she 
thought  how  much  she  loved  him,  and  how  im- 
probable it  was  that  he  should  care  for  her,  whom  he 
had  found  almost  a  beggar  girl. 

In  the  first  surprise  of  meeting  him  she  had  for- 
gotten everything,  save  that  he  had  returned  to  them 
in  safety,  and  her  manner  towards  him  then  was  per- 
fectly natural ;  but  now  when  Uncle  Nat,  after  tell- 
ing what  he  did,  bade  her  go  to  him,  she  quitted  the 
room  reluctantly,  and  much  as  she  wished  to  see 
him,  she  would  undoubtedly  have  run  away  up- 
stairs, had  she  not  met  him  in  the  hall,  together 
with  Mrs.  Elliott,  who  was  going  to  pay  her  respects 
to  Uncle  Nat. 

"  I  have  not  spoken  with  you  yet,  Dora,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hand  between  both  his.  "Go  in  there," 


144  BORA  DBAHB,  OB, 

motioning  to  the  room  he  had  just  left,  "  and  wait 
until  I  present  Lonise  to  your  uncle.** 

It  was  a  habit  of  Dora  s  always  to  cry  just  when 
she  wished  to  least,  and  now  entering  the  little  music 
room,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  sofa  and  burst  into 
tears.  Thus  Mr.  Hastings  found  her  on  his  return, 
and  sitting  down  by  her  side,  he  said  gently,  "  Are 
you,  then,  so  glad  that  I  have  come  home  ? 

Dora  would  not,  for  the  world,  let  him  know  her 
real  feelings,  and  she  answered,  "  Yes,  I  am  glad,  but 
I  am  crying^  at  what  Uncle  Nat  said  to  me." 

Mr.  Hastings  bit  his  lix>,  for  this  was  not  exactly 
the  kind  of  meeting  he  had  anticipated,  and  after 
sitting  an  awkward,  moment,  during  which  he  was 
wishing  that  she  had  not  answered  him  as  she  did, 
he  said  :  "  Will  you  not  look  up,  Dora,  and  tell 
me  how  you  have  passed  the  time  of  my  absence  ? 
I  am  sure  you  have  improved  it  both  irom  your  own 
appearance  and  what  Louise  has  told  me." 

This  was  a  subject  on  which  Dora  felt  that  she 
could  trust  herself,  and  drying  her  tears,  she  became 
very  animated  as  she  told  him  of  the  books  she  had 
read,  and  the  studies  she  had  pursued.  "I  have 
taken  music  lessons,  too,"  she  added.  "  "Would  you 
like  to  hear  me  play  ?  " 

Mr.  Hastings  would  far  rather  have  sat  there, 
watching  her  bright  face,  with  his  arm  thrown  lightly 
around  her  waist,  but  it  was  this  very  act,  this  touch 
of  his  arm,  which  prompted  her  proposal,  and  grace- 
fully disengaging  herself  she  crossed  over  to  the  piano, 
which  was  standing  in  the  room,  and  commenced 
singing  the  old,  ana  on  that  occasion  very  appro- 
priate, song  of  "  Home  again,  home  again,  from  a 
foreign  shore."  The  tones  of  her  voice  were  rich 
and  full,  and  they  reached  the  ear  of  Uncle  Nat,  who 
in  his  eagerness  to  listen,  forgot  everything,  until 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  14$ 

Mrs.  Elliott  said,  "  It  is  Dora  singing  to  my  Mother. 

Shall  we  join  them  ?  " 

Leading  the  way  she  ushered  him  into  the  musifl 
room,  where,  standing  at  Dora's  side,  he  listened 
rapturously  to  her  singing,  occasionally  wiping  away 
a  tear,  called  forth  by  the  memories  that  song  had 
awakened.  The  sight  of  the  piano  reminded  him  oi 
Eugenia,  and  when  Dora  had  finished  playing,  he 
laid  his  broad  hand  upon  her  shoulder  and  said,  "  Do 
you  ever  hear  from  them — the  villains  ?  " 

Dora  knew  to  whom  he  referred,  and  half  laughing 
at  his  excited  manner,  she  replied,  as  she  stole  a 
mischievous  glance  towards  Mr.  Hastings,  "I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Eugenia  not  long  since,  and  she 
seemed  very  anxious  to  know  in  what  part  of  Europe 
Mr.  Hastings  was  now  traveling,  and  if  he  were 
ever  coming  home ! " 

"  Much  good  his  coming  home  will  do  her,  the 
trollop!"  muttered  Uncle  Nat,  whispering  inco- 
herently to  himself  as  he  generally  did,  when  Eugenia 
was  the  subject  of  his  thoughts.  "  Don't  answer  the 
letter,"  he  said  at  last,  "  or,  if  you  do,  say  nothing 
of  me  ;  I  wish  to  meet  them  first  as  a  stranger." 

Near  the  window  Mr.  Hastings  was  standing,  re- 
volving in  his  own  mind  a  double  surprise  which  he 
knew  would  mortify  Eugenia  more  than  anything 
else.  But  in  order  to  effect  this,  Uncle  Nat  must 
remain  incog,  for  some  time  yet,  while  Dora  herself 
must  be  won,  and  this,  with  the  jealous  fears  of  a 
lover,  he  fancied  might  be  harder  to  accomplish 
than  the  keeping  Uncle  Nat  silent  when  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Eugenia. 

"  To-morrow  I  will  see  her  alone,  and  know  the 
worst,"  he  thought  and  glancing  at  Dora,  he  felt  a 
thrill  of  fear  lest  she,  in  all  the  freshness  of  her  youth, 
so 


146  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

should  refuse  her  heart  to  one,  who  had  called  anothef 
than  herself  his  wife. 

But  Ella  Grey  had  never  awakened  a  love  as  deep 
and  absorbing  as  that  which  he  now  felt  for  Dora 
Deane,  and  all  that  night  he  lay  awake,  wondering 
how  he  should  approach  her,  and  fancying  sometimes 
that  he  saw  the  cold  surprise  with  which  she  would 
listen  to  him,  and  again  that  he  read  in  her  dark  blue 
eyes  the  answer  which  he  sought.  The  morrow  came, 
but  throughout  the  entire  day,  he  found  no  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  to  her  alone,  for  Uncle  Nat 
hovered  near  her  side,  gazing  at  her  as  if  he  would 
never  tire  of  looking  at  her  beautiful  face.  And 
Dora,  too,  had  much  to  say  to  the  old  man,  on  this 
the  first  day  after  his  return.  With  his  head  resting 
upon  her  lap,  and  her  soft  white  hand  upon  his 
wrinkled  brow,  she  told  him  of  her  mother,  and  the 
message  she  had  left  for  him  on  the  sad  night  when 
she  died.  Then  she  spoke  of  her  Aunt  Sarah,  of 
Eugenia  and  Alice,  and  the  wrath  of  Uncle  Nat  was 
somewhat  abated,  when  he  heard  her  pleading  with 
him  not  to  be  so  angry  and  unforgiving — 

"  I  can  treat  Alice  well,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "  for 
she,  it  seems,  was  never  particularly  unkind.  And 
for  your  sake,  /  may  forgive  the  mother.  But  Eu- 
genia never  I — not  even  if  Fannie  herself  should  ask 
me!" 

Thus  passed  that  day,  and  when  the  next  one  came, 
Uncle  Nat  still  stayed  at  Dora's  side,  following  her 
from  room  to  room,  and  never  for  a  moment  leaving 
Mr.  Hastings  with  her  alone.  In  this  manner  nearly 
a  week  went  by,  and  the  latter  was  beginning  to 
despair,  when  one  evening  as  the  three  were  together 
in  the  little  music  room,  and  Mrs.  Elliott  was  with  her 
mother,  who  was  ill,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Uncle 
Nat  that  he  had  appropriated  Dora  entirely  to  him* 


THJ   MST  INDIA  UNCLE.  147 

f ,  not  giving  \'T.  Hastings  a  single  opportunity  for 
seeing  her  alone. 

"  I  have  wondered  that  he  did  not  tell  me  he  was 
engaged,"  he  thought,  "but  how  could  he  when  I 
haven't  given  him  a  chance  to  speak  to  her,  unless  he 
did  it  before  me ;  strange,  I  should  be  so  selfish  : 
bat  I'll  make  amends  now — though  I  do  hope  he'll 
be  quick  ! " 

Bising  up,  he  Mra^ked  to  the  door,  when  thinking 
that  Mr.  Hastings  might  possibly  expect  him  to  re- 
turn every  moment,  and  so  keep  silent,  he  said,  "  I've 
been  in  the  way  of  you  young  folks  long  enough,  and 
I  feel  just  as  if  something  might  happen  if  I  left 
you  together !  Call  me  when  you  want  me  ?  "  so 
saying  he  shut  the  d(X>r,  and  Mr.  Hastings  was  alone 
at  last  with  Dora  Deane  1 

Both  knew  to  what  Uncle  Nat  referred,  and  while 
Dora  fidgeted  from  o  :e  thing  to  another,  looking  at 
a  book  of  prints  wrong  side  up,  and  admiring  the 
pictures,  Mr.  Hasting  *  sat  perfectly  still,  wondering 
why  he  was  so  much  afraid  o.f  her.  Two  years  before 
he  felt  no  fear  ;  but  a  refusal  at  that  time  would  not. 
have  affected  him  as  it  would  do  now,  for  he  did  not 
then  know  how  much  he  loved  her.  Greatly  ho 
desired  that  she  should  speak  to  him — look  at  him— • 
or  do  something  to  braak  the  embarrassing  silence ; 
but  this  Dora  had  no  intention  of  doing,  and  she 
was  just  meditating  th«j  propriety  of  running  away, 
when  he  found  voice  enough  to  say,  "Will  you  come 
and  sit  by  me,  Dora  ?  " 

She  had  always  obeyed  him,  and  she  did  so  now, 
taking  a  seat,  however,  as  far  from  him  as  possible, 
on  the  end  of  the  sofa.  Still,  when  he  moved  up 
closely  to  her  side,  and  wound  his  arm  about  her. 
she  did  not  object,  though  her  face  burned  with 
blushes,  and  she  thought  it  quite  likely  that  her  next 


148  DORA  DEANB,  OR, 

act  would  be  to  cry !    And  this  she  did  do,  when  he 

said  to  her,  "  Dora,  do  you  remember  the  night  when 
Ella  died  ?" 

He  did  not  expect  any  answer  yet,  and  he  con- 
tinued, "  She  told  me,  you  know,  of  a  time  when, 
though  not  forgetting  her,  I  should  love  another— 
should  seek  to  call  another  my  wife.  And,  Dora, 
she  was  right,  for  I  do  love  another,  better,  if  it  be 
possible,  than  I  did  my  lost  Ella.  'Tis  four  yeara 
since  she  left  me,  and  now  that  I  would  have  a  second 
wife,  will  the  one  whom  I  have  chosen  from  all  the 
world  to  be  that  wife,  answer  me  yes  ¥  Will  she  go 
back  with  me  in  the  autumn  to  my  long  deserted 
home,  where  her  presence  always  brought  sunlight 
and  joy  ?* 

There  was  no  coquetry  about  Dora  Deane,  and  she 
could  not  have  practised  it  now,  if  there  had  been. 
She  knew  Mr.  Hastings  was  in  earnest — knew  that 
he  meant  what  he  said — and  the  little  hand,  which 
at  first  had  stolen  partly  under  her  dress,  lest  he 
should  touch  it,  came  back  from  its  hiding-place, 
and  crept  slowly  along  until  his  was  reached,  and 
there  she  let  it  lay  1  Tliis  was  her  answer,  and  he 
was  satisfied ! 

For  a  long  long  time  they  sat  together,  while  Mr. 
Hastings  talked,  not  wholly  of  the  future  when  she 
would  be  his  wife,  but  of  the  New  Year's  morning, 
years  ago,  when  he  found  her  sleeping  in  the  chamber 
of  death — of  the  bright  June  afternoon,  when  she  sat 
with  her  bare  feet  in  the  running  brook— of  the  time 
when  she  first  brought  comfort  to  his  home— of  the 
dark,  rainy  evening,  when  the  sight  of  her  sitting  in 
Ella's  room,  with  Ella's  baby  on  her  lap,  had  cheered 
his  aching  heart— of  the  storm  she  had  braved  to  tell 
him  his  baby  was  dying — of  the  winter  night  when 
ha  watched  her  through  the  window— of  the  duoky 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  {49 

twilight  when  she  sat  at  his  feet  in  the  little  library 
at  Rose  Hill — and  again  in  his  sister's  home  on  the 
Hudson,  when  he  first  knew  how  much  he  loved  her. 
Of  all  these  pictures  so  indelibly  stamped  upon  his 
memory,  he  told  her,  and  of  the  many,  many  times 
his  thoughts  had  been  of  her  when  afar  on  a  foreign 
shore. 

And  Dora,  listening  to  him,  did  not  care  to  answer, 
her  heart  was  so  full  of  happiness,  to  know  that  she 
should  be  thus  loved  by  one  like  Howard  Hastings. 
From  a  tower  not  far  distant,  a  city  clock  struck 
twelve,  and  then,  starting  up,  she  exclaimed,  "  So 
late !  I  thought  'twas  only  ten  I  We  have  kept 
Uncle  Nat  too  long.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  him  f" 
and  with  his  arms  still  around  her,  Mr.  Hastings 
arose  to  accompany  her. 

For  half  an  hour  after  leaving  the  music-room 
Uncle  Nat  had  walked  up  and  down  the  long  parlors, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  hoping  Mr.  Hastings 
would  be  brief,  and  expecting  each  moment  to  hear 
Bora  calling  him  back  1  In  this  manner  an  hour  or 
more  went  by,  and  then  grown  very  nervous  and  cold 
(for  it  was  a  damp,  chilly  night,  such  as  often  occurs 
in  our  latitude,  even  in  summer)  he  began  to  think 
that  if  Dora  were  not  coming,  a  fire  would  be  accep- 
table, and  he  drew  his  chair  near  to  the  register, 
which  was  closed.  Wholly  unaccustomed  to  furnaces, 
he  did  not  think  to  open  it,  and  for  a  time  longer  he 
gat  wondering  why  he  didn't  grow  warm,  and  if  it 
took  everybody  as  long  to  propose  as  it  did  Mr. 
Hastings. 

It "  didn't  take  me  long  to  tell  my  love  to  Fanny,," 
he  said,  "  but  then  she  refused,  and  when  they  ac- 
cept, as  Dora  will,  it's  always  a  longer  process,  I 
reckon!" 

This  point  satisfactorily  settled,  be  began  to  wish 


I5O  DORA  DEANE,  OH 

the  atmosphere  of  the  room  would  moderate,  and 
hitching  in  his  chair,  he  at  last  sat  directly  over  the 
register  !  bnt  even  this  failed  to  warm  him,  and 
mentally  concluding  that  although  furnaces  might 
do  very  well  for  New  Yorkers,  they  were  of  no  ac- 
count whatever  to  an  East  India  man,'  he  fell  asleep. 
In  this  situation,  Dora  found  him. 

"  Poor  old  man,"  said  she,  "  'twas  thoughtless  in 
me  to  leave  him  so  long,  and  kissing  his  brow,  she 
cried,  "  Wake  up,  Uncle  Nat—-wake  up  I  and  Uncle 
Nat,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  red  stiff  fingers,  and 
looking  in  her  glowing  face,  thought  "  tW;  something 
had  happened  1 " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  SPRINGS. 

MB.  HASTINGS  and  Bora  were  engaged.  Mrs. 
Hastings,  the  mother,  and  Mrs.  Elliott,  the  sister, 
had  signified  their  entire  approbation,  while  Uncle 
Nat,  with  a  hand  placed  on  either  head  of  the  young 
people,  had  blessed  them  as  his  children,  hinting  the 
while  that  few  brides  e'er  went  forth  as  richly  dowered 
as  should  Dora  Deane.  The  marriage  was  not  tg 
take  place  until  the  following  October,  as  Mr.  Hast- 
ings wished  to  make  some  improvements  at  Hose 
Hill,  which  was  still  to  be  his  home  proper,  though 
Uncle  Nat  insisted  upon  buying  a  very  elegant  house 
in  the  city  for  a  winter  residence,  whenever  they 
chose  thus  to  use  it.  To  this  proposal  Mr.  Hasting* 
made  no  objection,  for  though  he  felt  that  his  great- 
est  happiness  would  be  in  having  Dora  all  to  blmsell 
in  Dun  wood,  he  knew  that  society  in  the  cifcjr 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  I$I 

never  have  the  effect  upon  her  which  it  did  npon 
Ella,  for  her  tastes,  like  his  own,  were  domestic,  and 
on  almost  every  subject  she  felt  and  thought  as  ho 
did. 

Immediately  after  his  engagement  he  imparted  to 
"Uncle  Nat  a  knowledge  of  the  double  surprise  he  had 
planned  for  Eugenia,  and  the  old  gentleman  at  last 
consented,  saying  though,  that  "  'twas  doubtful 
whether  he  could  hold  himself  together  when  first 
he  met  the  young  lady.  Still  with  Mr.  Hastinga's 
presence  as  a  check,  he  would  try." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  in  Dunwood,  where  Mr. 
Hastings's  return  was  still  unknown,  Uncle  Nat 
should  pass  as  a  Mr.  Hamilton,  whom  Mr.  Hastings 
had  picked  up  in  his  travels.  Four  years  of  his  earlier 
life  had  been  spent  in  South  America,  and  whenever 
he  spoke  of  any  particular  place  of  abode  it  was  to  be 
of  Euenos  Ayres,  where  he  had  once  resided.  By 
this  means  he  could  the  more  easily  learn  for  himself 
the  character  and  disposition  of  his  relatives,  and 
feeling  now  more  eager  than  ever  to  meet  them,  he 
here  started  with  Mr.  Hastings  for  Dunwood.  It 
was  morning  when  they  reached  there,  and  with  a 
dark,  lowering  brow,  he  looked  curiously  at  the 
house  which  his  companion  designated  as  Locust 
Grove.  It  was  a  pleasant  spot,  and  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  that  it  should  be  the  home  of  a  woman  as 
artful  and  designing  as  Eugenia.  About  it  now, 
however,  there  was  an  air  of  desertion.  The  doors 
were  shut  and  the  blinds  closed,  as  if  the  inmates 
were  absent. 

On  reaching  Rose  Hill,  where  he  found  his  servants 
overwhelmed  with  delight  at  his  unexpected  return, 
Mr.  Hastings  casually  inquired  of  Mrs.  Leah  if  the 
Deanes  were  at  home.  A  shadow  passed  over  the  old 
lady's  face,  and  folding  her  arms,  she  leaned  against 


I  $2  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

the  door  and  began  :  "  I  wonder  now,  if  you're  askinf 
after  them  the  first  thing  I  I  don't  know  but  they 
are  well  enough,  all  but  Eugenia.  I  believe  I  never 
disliked  anybody  as  I  do  her,  and  no  wonder,  the  way 
she's  gone  on.  At  first  she  used  to  come  up  here 
almost  every  week  on  purpose  to  ask  about  yon, 
though  she  pretended  to  tumble  over  your  books, 
and  mark  'em  all  up  with  her  pencil.  But  when 
that  scapegrace  Stephen  Grey  came,  she  took  another 
tack,  and  the  way  she  and  he  went  on  was  scandalous. 
She  was  a  runnin*  up  here  the  whole  time  that  he 
wasn't  a  streakin*  it  down  there." 

"  Stephen  Grey  been  here?  When  and  what  for  ?  " 
interrupted  Mr.  Hastings,  who,  as  his  father-in-law, 
during  his  absence,  had  removed  to  Philadelphia, 
knew  nothing  of  the  family. 

"You  may  well  ask  that/'  returned  Mrs.  Leah, 
growing  very  much  excited  as  she  remembered  the 
trouble  the  fast  young  man  had  made  her.  "  Last 
fall  in  shootin'  time,  he  came  here,  bag,  baggage, 
gun,  dogs  and  all — said  it  didn't  make  a  speck  of 
difference,  yon  being  away — 'twas  all  in  the  family, 
and  so  you'd  a'  thought,  the  way  he  went  on,  drinkin. 
ewearin',  shootin',  and  carousiu'  with  a  lot  of  fellers 
who  stayed  with  him  here  a  spell,  and  then,  when  they 
were  gone,  he  took  a  flirtin  with  Eugenia  Deane, 
who  told  him,  I'll  bet,  more'n  fire  hundred  lies  about 
an  old  uncle  that,  she  says,  is  rich  as  a  Jew,  and  has 
willed  his  property  to  her  and  Alice." 

"  The  viper  1"  muttered  Uncle  Nat  to  himself  ; 
and  Mrs.  Leah  continued,  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
old  Mr.  Grey  was  gettin'  poor,  and  Steve,  I  guess, 
would  marry  anybody  who  had  money ;  but  Lord 
knows  I  don't  want  him  to  have  her,  for  though  he 
he  ain't  an  atom  too  good,  I  used  to  live  in  the  family 
and  took  care  of  him  when  he  waa  little.  I  ahould  at 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLB.  I$3 

written  about  his  carrying  on  to  Mrs.  Elliott,  only  I 

knew  she  didn't  think  any  too  much  of  the  Greys, 
and  'twould  only  trouble  her  for  nothin'.** 

"  But  where  are  they  now — Mrs.  Deane  and  her 
daughters  ? "  asked  Mr.  Hastings  ;  and  Mrs.  Leah 
replied,  "  Gone  to  Avon  Springs  ;  and  folks  do  say 
they've  done  their  own  work,  and  ate  cold  victuals 
off  the  pantry  shelf  ever  since  last  November,  so  aa 
to  save  money,  to  cut  a  swell.  I  guess  Eugenia*!!  be 
mighty  glad  if  that  old  nncle  ever  dies.  For  my 
part,  I  hope  he  won't  1  or,  if  he  does,  I  hope  he 
won't  leave  her  a  dollar." 

" Not  a  dime!"  thought  Uncle  Nat,  who,  not  be- 
ing supposed  to  feel  interested  in  Eugenia  Deane,  had 
tried  to  appear  indifferent,  holding  hard  the  while 
npon  the  rounds  of  his  chair  "  to  keep  himself  to 
gether." 

Alone  with  Mr.  Hastings,  his  wrath  burst  forth, 
but  after  a  few  tremendous  explosions,  he  grew  calm, 
andproposed  that  thev  too  should  go  at  once  to  Avon. 
«<  We  shall  then  see  the  lady  in  all  her  glory,"  said 
he,  "  and  maybe  hear  something  about  her  old  nncle, 
though  you'll  have  to  keep  your  eye  on  me,  or  I  shall 
go  off  on  a  sudden,  and  snake  her  as  a  dog  would  a 
snake  1  Well  send  for  Mrs.  Elliott  and  Dora  to  join 
ns  there,"  he  continued  ;  "  it  will  be  fun  to  bring 
them  together,  and  see  what  Eugenia  will  do." 

"  I  am  afraid  yon  could  not  restrain  yourself," 
said  Mr.  Hastings;  but  Uncle  Nat  was  sure  he  could, 
and  after  a  few  days  they  started  for  Avon,  where 
"  Miss  Eugenia  Deane,  the  heiress,"  was  quite  a 
belle. 

For  a  longtime  after  Mr.  Hastings's  departure  for 
Europe,  she  had  remained  trne  to  him,  feeding  on 
the  remembrance  of  his  parting  words,  that  *'  he 
had  more  reasons  for  remembering  her  than  ibe  tap* 


154  DOHA  DEANE,  OK, 

posed ;  but  when,  as  months  went  by,  he  sent  her 
neithei  letter,  paper  nor  message,  she  began  to  think 
that  possibly  he  had  never  entertained  a  serious 
thought  concerning  her,  and  when  Stephen  Grey 
came,  she  was  the  more  ready  to  receive  his  atten- 
tions, and  forgive  his  former  neglect.  He  was  a 
reckless,  unprincipled  fellow,  and  feeling  this  time 
rather  pleased  with  the  bold  dashing  manner  of 
Eugenia,  backed  as  it  was  by  the  supposed  will  ot 
Uncle  Nat,  he  made  some  advances,  which  she  readily 
met,  making  herself  and  him,  as  Mrs.  Leah  had  said, 
"  perfectly  ridiculous."  "When  he  left  Dunwood  he 
went  west,  telling  her  playfully,  that,  "  if  he  found 
no  one  there  who  suited  him  better  than  she,  he 
would  the  next  summer  meet  her  at  Avon,  and  per- 
haps propose  !  He  was  disgusted  with  Saratoga, 
Newport,  Nahant,  and  all  those  stupid  places/'  he 
said,  "  and  wished  to  try  something  new." 

To  spend  several  weeks  at  Avon,  therefore,  was  now 
Eugenia's  object.  She  had  succeeded  in  coaxing  her 
mother  to  withhold  from  Dora  the  thousand  dollars* 
a  part  of  which  was  safely  invested  for  their  own 
benefit,  but  this  alone  would  not  cover  all  their  ex- 
penses, for  Mrs.  Deaue,  growing  gay  and  foolish  aa 
she  grew  older,  declared  her  intention  of  going  to 
Avon  also.  "  The  water  would  do  her  good,"  she 
said,  "  and  'twas  time  she  saw  a  little  of  society." 

To  this  plan  Eugenia  did  not  particularly  object, 
for  it  would  indicate  wealth,"  she  thought,  for  the 
whole  family  to  spend  the  summer  at  a  watering 
place.  Still  it  would  cost  a  great  deal,  and  though 
ilncle  Nat's  remittance  came  at  the  usual  time,  they 
did  not  dare  to  depend  wholly  upon  that,  lest  on 
their  return  there  should  be  nothing  left  with  which 
to  buy  their  bread.  In  this  emergency,  they  hit 
upon  the  expedient  of  dismissing  their  servant,  and 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  155 

itarving  themselves  through  the  winter  and  spring, 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a  display  in  the  summer  ; 
and  this  last  they  were  now  doing.  Eugenia  fluttered 
like  a  butterfly,  sometimes  in  white  satin,  sometimes 
in  pink,  and  again  in  embroidered  muslin  ;  while  her 
toother,  a  very  little  disgusted  with  society,  but  still 
determined  to  brave  it  through,  held  aside  her  cam- 
bric wrapper  and  made  faces  over  three  glasses  of 
spring  water  in  the  morning,  drowned  herself  in  a 
hot  bath  every  other  day,  rode  twice  a  day  in  crowded 
omnibuses  to  and  from  the  springs,  through  banks 
of  sand  and  clouds  of  dust,  and  sat  every  evening  in 
the  heated  parlors  with  a  very  red  face,  and  a  very 
tight  dress,  wondering  if  everybody  enjoyed  them- 
selves as  little  in  society  as  she  did,  and  thinking  ten 
dollars  per  week  a  great  deal  to  pay  for  being  as  un- 
comfortable as  she  was  ! 

For  her  disquietude,  however,  she  felt  in  a  meas- 
ure repaid  when  she  saw  that  Eugenia  was  the 
most  showy  young  lady  present,  and  managed  to 
keep  about  her  a  cross-eyed  widower,  a  near-sighted- 
bachelor,  a  medical  student  of  nineteen,  a  broken- 
down  merchant,  a  lame  officer,  a  spiritualist,  and 
Stephen  Grey  !  This  completed  the  list  of  her  ad- 
mirers, if  we  except  a  gouty  old  man,  who  praised  her 
dancing,  and  would  perhaps  have  called  her  beautiful, 
but  for  his  better  half,  who  could  see  nothing  agree- 
able or  pleasing  in  the  dashing  belle.  True  to  his 
promise,  Stephen  Crey  had  met  her  there,  and  they 
were  in  the  midst  of  quite  a  flirtation,  when  Mr. 
Hastings  and  Uncle  Nat  arrived  ;  the  latter  register- 
ing his  name  as  Mr.  Hamilton  ;  and  taking  care  soon 
after  to  speak  of  Buenos  Ayres,  as  a  place  where  he 
formerly  lived.  The  ruse  was  successful,  and  in  less 
than  half  an  hour,  it  was  known  through  the  house, 
that  "the  singular  looking  old  gentleman  was  • 


DORA  DEANB,  Oft, 

South  American,  a  bachelor,  and  rich  undoubtedly, 
as  such  men  always  were  I 

The  Deanes  were  that  afternoon  riding  with  Ste- 
phen Grey,  and  did  not  return  until  after  supper,  a 
circumstance  which  Eugenia  greatly  lamented  when 
she  learned  that  their  numbers  had  been  increased 
by  the  arrival  of  an  elegant  looking  stranger  from 
New  York,  together  with  an  old  South  American, 
whose  name  was  Hamilton.  The  name  of  the  other 
Eugenia's  informant  did  not  know,  for  he  had  not 
registered  it,  but  "  he  was  a  splendid  looking  man," 
she  said,  and  with  more  than  usual  care,  Eugenia 
dressed  herself  for  the  evening,  and  between  the 
hours  of  eight  and  nine,  sailed  into  the  parlor  with 
the  air  of  a  queen. 

From  his  window  in  an  upper  chamber  Uncle  Nat 
had  seen  the  ladies,  as  they  returned  from  their  ride  ; 
and  when  Mr.  Hastings,  who  at  that  time  was  absent 
from  the  room,  came  back  to  it,  he  found  the  old 
gentleman  hurriedly  pacing  the  floor  and  evidently 
much  excited. 

"  I've  seen  her,"  said  he,  "  the  very  one  herself— 
Eugenia  Deane  !  I  knew  her  mother  in  a  moment, 
and  I  knew  her  too,  by  her  evil  eyes.  I  could  hardly 
refrain  from  pouncing  upon  her,  and  I  believe  I  did 
shake  my  fist  at  her!  But  it's  over  now,"  he  con- 
tinued, "and  I  am  glad  I  have  seen  her,  for  I  can 
meet  her  and  not  betray  myself ;  though,  Hastings, 
if  at  any  time  I  am  missing,  you  may  know  that  I've 
come  up  here  to  let  myself  off,  for  my  wrath  must 
evaporate  somehow." 

Feeling  confident  that  he  could  trust  him,  Mr. 
Hastings  ere  long  accompanied  him  to  the  parlor, 
where  his  gentlemanly  manners,  and  rather  peouliai 
looks  procured  for  him  immediate  attention ;  and 
when  Eugenia  entered  the  room,  he  was  oonvezabif 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  157 

familiarly  with  some  gentlemen  whose  notice  she 
had  in  vain  tried  to  attract.  At  a  little  distance  from 
him  and  nearer  the  door  was  Mr.  Hastings,  talking 
to  Stephen  Grey.  Engenia  did  not  observe  him 
until  she  was  directly  at  his  side,  then,  turning  pale, 
she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  while  he,  iu 
his  usual  polite,  easy  manner,  offered  his  hand,  first 
to  her  mother,  and  then  to  herself  and  Alice,  saying, 
in  reply  to  their  many  inquiries  as  to  when  he  re- 
turned, that  he  reached  Dunwood  a  few  days  before, 
and  finding  they  were  all  at  Avon,  had  concluded 
to  follow.  At  this  remark  the  pallor  left  Eugenia's 
cheek,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  bright  glow,  for 
"Mr.  Hastings  must  feel  interested  in  her,  or  he 
would  not  have  followed  her  there ; "  and  ^h-  black 
eyes,  which  a  few  hours  before  had  smiled  so  be- 
witchingly  upon  Stephen  Grey,  now  shone  with  a 
brighter  lustre,  as  she  talked  with  Mr.  Hastings  of 
his  European  tour,  asking  him  why  he  had  stayed  so 
long,  and  telling  him  how  natural  it  seemed  to  have 
him  home  once  more. 

'•  By  the  way,"  she  continued,  "  they  say  there  is 
en  old  South  American  here — a  queer  old  fellow- 
did  he  come  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  answered  Mr.  Hastings,  glancing  towards 
Uncle  Nat,  whose  eyes  had  never  for  a  moment  lost 
sight  of  Eugenia ;  "  I  found  him  in  my  travels,  and 
liking  him  very  much,  brought  him  home  with  me. 
Allow  me  to  introduce  you,  for  though  rather  eccen- 
tric, he's  a  fine  man,  and  quite  wealthy,  too."  • 

"  Wealth  is  nothing  !  I  wouldn't  think  any  more 
of  him  for  that,"  returned  Eugenia,  taking  Mr. 
Hastings's  arm,  and  advancing  toward  Uncle  Nat, 
whose  left  hand  grasped  tightly  one  side  of  his  blue 
coat,  while  the  other  was  offered  to  Eugenia. 

With  a  alight  ihadder,  he  dropped  her  band  M 


*58  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

soon  aa  it  was  touched ;  then,  pressing  his  fingen 
together  so  firmly,  that  his  long  nails  left  marks  in 
his  flesh,  he  looked  curiously  down  upon  her,  eyeing 
her  furtively  as  if  she  had  been  a  wild  beast.  Noth- 
ing of  all  this  escaped  Eugenia,  who,  feeling  greatly 
amused  at  what  she  thought  to  be  his  embarrass- 
ment, and  fancying  he  had  never  before  conversed 
with  so  fine  a  lady  as  herself,  she  commenced  quiz- 
zing him  in  a  manner  excessively  provoking  to  one 
of  his  excitable  temperament.  Lifting  up  first  one 
foot,  and  then  the  other,  he  felt  his  patience  fast 
giving  way,  and  at  last,  as  her  ridicule  became  more 
and  more  marked,  he  could  endure  it  no  longer,  but 
returned  it  with  a  kind  of  sarcasm  far  more  scathing 
than  anything  she  could  say.  Deeply  chagrined, 
and  feeling  that  she  had  been  beaten  with  her  own 
weapons,  she  was  about  to  leave  the  "  old  bear,"  as 
she  mentally  styled  him,  when  remembering  that  he 
was  Mr.  Hastings's  friend,  and,  as  such  worthy  of 
more  respect  than  she  had  paid  him,  she  said  play- 
fully, "I  have  a  mother  and  sister  here,  whom  you 
may  like  better  than  you  do  me.  I'll  introduce 
them,"  and  tripping  across  the  room,  she  made 
known  her  wishes  to  her  mother,  adding  that  "  there 
was  a  chance  for  her,  as  he  was  an  old  oachelor." 

Long  and  searchingly  the  old  man  looked  in  the 
face  of  the  widow,  thinking  of  the  time  when  she 
had  called  Fannie  her  sister ;  but  of  this  Mrs.  Deane 
did  not  know  ;  and  remembering  what  Eugenia  had 
said,  she  blushed  crimson,  and  as  soon  as  possible, 
stole  away,  leaving  him  alone  with  Alice,  with  whom 
he  was  better  pleased,  talking  with  her  so  long  that 
Eugenia,  who  was  hovering  near  Mr.  Hastings, 
began  to  laugh  at  what  she  called  her  sister's  con- 
quest. Nothing  had  escaped  Mr.  Hastings,  and 
thinking  this  a  good  opportunity  for  rebuking  thi 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  159 

young  lady,  he  spoke  of  Mr.  Hamilton  in  the  highest 
terms,  saying  that,  "  he  should  consider  any  disre- 
enect  paid  to  his  friend  a  slight  to  himself.  This 
hint  was  sufficient,  and  wishing  to  make  amends  for 
her  rudeness,  Eugenia  ere  long  sought  the  stranger, 
and  tried  to  be  very  agreeable ;  but  there  was  no 
affinity  between  them,  and  to  Mr.  Hastings,  who 
was  watching  them,  they  seemed  much  like  a  fierce 
mastiff,  and  a  spiteful  cat,  impatient  to  pounce  upon 
each  other  ! 

During  the  evening  the  three  were  standing  to- 
gether, and  Eugenia  suddenly  remembering  Dora, 
asked  Mr.  Hastings  how  she  was,  saying  she  seldom 
wrote  to  them,  and  when  she  did,  her  letters  amounted 
to  nothing.  With  a  warning  glance  at  Uncle  Nat, 
whose  face  grew  very  dark,  Mr.  Hastings  replied 
that  she  was  well,  and  had,  he  thought,  improved 
under  his  sister's  care. 

"  I  am  glad, "  said  she,  "  for  there  was  need  enough 
of  improvement.  She  was  so  unrefined,  always  pre- 
ferring the  kitchen  to  the  parlor,  that  we  couldn't 
make  anything  of  her." 

A  sudden  "  Ugh!"  from  Uncle  Nat  stopped  her, 
and  she  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  said  he,  wiping  his  face, 
"  only  I  am  getting  pretty  warm,  and  must  cool 
off." 

The  next  moment  he  was  gone,  and  when,  at  a 
late  hour,  Mr.  Hastings  repaired  to  his  room,  he 
knew  by  the  chairs,  boots,  brushes,  and  boofoi  scat- 
tered over  the  floor,  that  Uncle  Nat,  snoring  eo 
loudly  in  bed,  had  cooled  off! 

"  1  had  to  hold  on,  to  keep  from  falling  to  piece* 
right  before  her,"  he  said,  next  morning,  in  speaking 
of  the  last  night's  adventure ;  "  but  I  shall  do  bettw 
next  time.  1  am  getting  a  little  accustomed  to  if 


|6O  DORA  DEANE,  Oft, 

And  he  was  right,  for  only  twice  during  the  entire 
day  and  evening  did  he  disappear  from  the  room* 
Once  when  Eugenia  sat  down  to  play,  and  once  when 
he  heard  her  telling  Stephen  Grey,  who  asked  her 
to  ride  again,  that,  "  he  really  must  excuse  her,  as 
she  had  a  letter  to  write  to  Uncle  Nat,  who  un- 
doubtedly wondered  why  she  was  so  tardy.  And 
you  know,"  she  said,  "it  won't  do  to  neglect  him  I** 

Uncle  Nat  knew  it  was  a  farce  to  get  rid  of  Ste- 
phen Grey,  who  was  nothing  compared  with  his 
Drother-in-law,  but  his  indignation  was  not  the  less ; 
and  Mr.  Hastings,  when  he  saw  the  long  blue  coat 
flying  up  the  stairs,  smiled  quietly,  though  he  pitied 
the  poor  old  man,  who  was  thus  kept  vibrating  be- 
tween his  chamber  and  the  parlor. 

In  this  manner  several  days  passed  away,  during 
which  time  Uncle  Nat's  temper  was  severely  tested, 
both  by  Eugenia's  remarks  concerning  Dora,  and  by 
what  she  said  of  himself,  for  he  more  than  once 
heard  her  speaking  of  "  Old  Uncle  Nat"  who  sent 
her  money  to  buy  the  various  articles  of  jewelry 
which  she  wore.  On  such  occasions  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  for  him  to  restrain  his  anger,  and  he  of tel 
wished  he  had  never  promised  to  keep  silent ;  bul 
by  frequent  visits  to  his  chamber,  which  witnessed 
many  a  terrific  storm,  he  managed  to  be  quiet,  so 
that  Eugonia  had  no  suspicion  whatever,  though  she 
disliked  him  greatly,  and  wished  he  had  never  come 
there.  Mr.  Hastings  troubled  her,  top,  for  she  felt 
very  uncertain  as  to  the  nature  of  his  feelings  to- 
wards her.  He  treated  her  politely,  but  that  was 
All,  and  no  management  on  her  part  could  draw  from 
him  any  particular  attention. 

"  Maybe  he's  jealous  of  Stephen  Grey,"  sht 
thought,  and  then  she  became  so  cold  towards  the 
latter  individual,  that  had  he  not  remembered  Until 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  l6| 

will,  in  which  he  firmly  believed,  he  would 
have  packed  his  trunk  at  once,  and  left  her  in  dis- 
gust. 

But  Stephen's  necessities  were  great.  There  was 
standing  against  him  a  long  list  of  bills,  which  his 
father  refused  to  pay,  and  he  was  ready  to  marry  the 
first  purse  which  was  offered.  Had  Eugenia  been 
altogether  agreeable  to  him,  he  would  have  pro- 
posed ere  this,  but  without  knowing  why,  he  felt 
afraid  of  her.  Added  to  this  was  the  memory  of  his 
mother's  threat,  that  his  father  should  disinherit 
him  if  he  disgraced  them  by  marrying  that  Deanf 
girl,  in  whose  expected  fortune  she  did  not  believe. 
So  halting  between  two  opinions,  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  taken  up  and  cast  off  whenever  the  capricious 
Eugenia  chose. 

In  the  meantime,  Uncle  Nat  had  cultivated  the 
acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Deane  and  Alice,  finding  the 
latter  quite  a  pleasant  girl,  and  feeling  disposed  to 
think  more  favorably  of  the  former  when  he  heard 
her  speak  kindly  of  Dora,  as  she  always  did.  Matters 
were  in  this  state,  when,  one  afternoon,  in  com- 
pliance with  her  brother's  written  request,  Mrs, 
Elliott  arrived,  together  with  Dora.  Most  of  the 
visitors  were  at  the  springs,  and  as  Eugenia  never  let 
an  opportunity  pass  for  showing  herself  to  the  guests 
of  the  different  houses,  she  too  was  there,  and  thus 
failed  to  see  how  tenderly  Dora  was  greeted  by  Mr. 
Hastings,  and  how  fondly  Uncle  Nat  clasped  her  in 
his  arms,  holding  her  hand  all  the  way  up  the  stairs, 
and  only  releasing  her  when  she  reached  the  door  of 
the  room,  which  had  been  previously  engaged  for 
them  by  Mr.  Hastings.  Feeling  slightly  indisposed, 
Mrs.  Elliott  did  not  go  down  to  supper,  and  as  Dora 
those  to  remain  with  her,  neither  of  them  were  seen 
until  evening.  Eugenia  had  heard  of  the  arrival  of 
II 


1 62  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

two  aristocratic  looking  ladies,  one  of  whom  wai 
young  and  very  beautiful,  and  this  aroused  her  fears 
at  once.  Hitherto  she  had  reigned  without  a  rival, 
for  aside  from  her  beauty,  the  generally  believed 
rumor  of  her  being  an  heiress,  procured  for  her  at- 
tention for  many  who  otherwise  would  have  been 
disgusted  with  her  overbearing  manner  and  boister- 
ous conduct ;  for,  like  many  others,  she  had  fallen 
into  the  error  of  thinking  that  to  be  fashionable,  she 
must  be  bold  and  noisy,  and  no  voice  in  the  drawing- 
room  ever  reached  so  high  a  note  as  hers.  Still  she 
was  tolerated  and  flattered,  and  when  th^  friend, 
who  told  her  of  the  new  arrivals,  and  «vho  had 
caught  a  view  of  Dora's  face,  laughingly  bade  her 
beware  lest  her  star  should  begin  to  wane,  she  curled 
her  lip  in  scorn,  as  if  anything  in  Avon  could  com- 
pete with  her,  who  "  had  spent  so  many  seasons  at 
Saratoga  and  Newport,  and  who  would  have  gone 
there  this  summer,  only  she  wanted  a  change,  and 
then  it  was  more  quiet  for  ma  I  " 

This  was  one  of  her  stereotyped  remarks  until  Mr. 
Hastings  came,  but.  he  knew  her,  and  in  his  presence 
she  was  less  assuming.  She  had  heard  that  the  new 
arrivals  were  his  friends,  and  thinking  they  must  of 
course  be  somebody,  she  arrayed  herself  for  the  eve- 
ning with  unusual  care,  wearing  her  white  satin  and 
lace  bertha,  the  most  becoming  and  at  the  same  time 
the  most  expensive  dress  she  had. 

"  I  wish  1  had  some  pearls,"  she  said,  glancing  at 
her  raven  hair ;  "  they  would  look  so  much  richer 
than  these  flowers." 

"  I  should  think  an  heiress  like  you  would  have 
everything  she  wanted,"  suggested  Alice,  mischiev- 
ously, and  Eugenia  replied,  "  Oh,  pshaw  !  We  shall 
never  get  more  than  five  hundred  a  year  from  Uncle 
Nat,  bat  I  don't  much  care.  Old  Mr.  Grey  k 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  163 

Wealthy,  and  if  Mr.  Hastings  don't  manifest  any 
more  interest  in  me  than  he  has  since  he  came  here, 
I  shall  let  that  foolish  Steve  propose,  much  as  I  dis- 
like him." 

So  saying,  she  clasped  upon  her  arm  a  heavy 
bracelet,  for  which  the  sum  of  forty  dollars  had  been 
paid,  and  descended  with  her  mother  and  sister  to 
the  parlor.  Mrs.  Elliott  and  Dora  were  there  before 
her — the  former  leaning  on  Mr.  Hastings's  arm, 
while  the  latter  was  already  surrounded  by  a  group 
of  admirers,  a  few  of  whom  had  met  her  before. 
She  was  standing  with  her  back  towards  Eugenia, 
who  singled  her  out  in  a  moment,  as  her  rival,  notic- 
ing first  her  magnificent  hair,  in  which  an  orna- 
ment of  any  kind  would  have  been  out  of  place,  and 
which  was  confined  at  the  back  of  the  head  by  a 
small  and  elegantly  wrought  gold  comb.  Her  dress 
was  perfectly  plain,  consisting  simply  of  white  India 
muslin,  which  fitted  her  admirably  and  seemed  well 
adapted  to  her  youthful  form. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  inquired  Eugenia  of  Uncle  Nat, 
who  had  stationed  himself  near  the  door,  on  purpose 
to  see  how  the  first  sight  of  Dora  would  affect  her. 

"  Who  is  she  ! "  he  replied.  "  Strange  you  don't 
know  your  own  cousin  Dora  Deane"  and  a  look  of 
intense  satisfaction  danced  in  his  keen  eyes,  as  he 
saw  the  expression  of  astonishment  which  passed  over 
Eugenia's  face. 

"  Impossible ! "  she  exclaimed,  while  a  pang  of 
envy  shot  through  her  heart.  "  That  stylish  look- 
ing girl  can't  be  Dora  !  Why,  I  always  supposed 
Mrs.  Elliott  made  a  half  servant,  half  companion  of 
her.  She  never  told  us  any  different ; "  and  with  a 
vague  hope  that  the  old  South  American  might  be 
mistaken,  she  took  a  step  or  two  forward  just  aa 
Dora  turned  round,  disclosing  to  view  hrer  face. 


164  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt,  and  with  mingled 
feelings  of  surprise,  mortification,  jealousy,  and  rage, 
Eugenia  advanced  to  meet  her,  wisely  resolving  as 
she  did  so  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  never  let  her 
cousin  know  how  much  annoyed  she  was.  Both 
Mrs.  Deane  and  Alice  were  greeted  kindly  by  Dora, 
who  could  scarcely  be  more  than  polite  to  Eugenia, 
and  when  the  latter  made  a  movement  to  kiss  her, 
she  involuntarily  drew  back,  feeling  that  she  could 
not  suffer  it. 

"  Grown  suddenly  very  proud,"  muttered  Eugenia, 
at  the  same  time  determining  that  her  mother  should 
insist  upon  taking  Dora  home  with  them,  and 
secretly  exulting  as  she  thought  how  she  should 
again  work  in  the  dark  kitchen  at  Locust  Grove,  as 
she  had  done  before.  *'  That'll  remove  some  of  her 
fine  airs,  I  reckon,"  she  thought,  as,  with  bitter 
hatred  at  her  heart,  she  watched  her  young  cousin, 
who,  throughout  the  entire  evening,  continued  to  be 
the  center  of  attraction. 

Everybody  asked  who  she  was  ;  everybody  pro- 
Bounced  her  beautiful,  and  everybody  neglected  Eu- 
genia Deane,  who,  greatly  enraged,  retired  early,  and 
vented  her  wrath  in  tears,  to  think  that  the  once 
despised  Dora  should  now  be  so  far  above  her. 

"  But  it  shall  not  be,"  she  said,  and  then  to  her 
mother  she  unfolded  her  plan  of  having  Dora  go 
home  with  them  immediately.  "  I'd  as  soon  be  in 
Joppa  as  to  stay  here  with  her  for  a  rival,"  she  said» 
"  Mr.  Hastings  don't  care  for  me,  I  know,  and  L 
hate  that  old  codger  of  a  Hamilton,  with  his  sarcastio 
remarks  and  prying  eyes.  Fve  been  here  long 
enough,  and  I  mean  to  go  home." 

To  this  proposition  Mrs.  Deaue  assented  willingly  , 
but  she  expressed  her  doubts  concerning  her  ability 
to  make  Dora  accompany  them. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  165 

"  Of  course  shell  go/'  said  Eugenia.  "  Her 
mother  placed  her  under  your  control,  and  she  is 
bound  to  obey." 

Yielding  at  last,  as  she  generally  did,  Mrs.  Deane 
promised  to  see  what  she  could  do,  and  the  next  day 
she  announced  to  Mrs.  Elliott  her  intention  of  tak- 
ing Dora  home  with  her.  "lam  grateful  for  all 
you  have  done  for  her,"  said  she  ;  "  but  we  need 
her,  and  cannot  spare  her  any  longer,,  so,  Dora  dear/* 
turning  to  her  niece,  "  pack  up  your  things,  and  we 
will  start  to-morrow  morning." 

Had  Un  3le  Nat  been  there,  he  would,  undoubt- 
edly, have  exploded  at  once  ;  but  he  was  not  pres- 
ent, neither  was  Mr.  Eastings,  and  it  remained  for 
Mrs.  Elliott  alone  to  reply,  which  she  did  firmly 
and  decidedly.  "  No,  Mrs.  Deane,  Dora  cannot  go. 
She  was  committed  to  your  care,  I  know,  but  you 
gave  her  up  to  me,  and  I  shall  not  part  with  her 
unless  I  am  legally  compelled  to  do  so,  or  she  wishes 
to  go.  She  can  answer  this  last  for  herself,"  and 
she  turned  towards  Dora,  who,  drawing  nearer  to 
her,  replied,  "I  am  sorry  to  disobey  you,  Aunt 
Sarah,  but  I  cannot  leave  Mrs.  Elliott." 

Mrs.  Deane  was  not  very  courageous,  and  un- 
•willing  to  press  her  claim,  she  turned  away  and 
reported  her  ill-success  to  Eugenia,  who  heaped  a 
torrent  of  abuse  upon  both  Mrs.  Elliott,  Dora,  the 
old  South  American,  and  Mr.  Hastings,  who,  she 
declared,  were  all  leagued  against  them. 

"  But  I  don't  care, "said  she,  "  old  Mr.  Grey  is  quite 
as  wealthy  as  Mr.  Hastings,  and  by  saying  the  word,  I 
can  marry  Steve  at  any  time ;  and  I  will  do  it,  too," 
she  continued,  "  and  that  proud  Mrs.  Elliott  shall 
yet  be  obliged  to  meet  me  on  terms  of  equality,  for 
she  will  not  dare  to  neglect  the  Greys  I " 

Somewhat  comforted  by  this  thought,  she  dried 


166  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

her  tears,  and  signified  her  willingness  to  start  for 
heme  on  the  morrow,  even  if  Dora  did  not  accom- 
pany her.  As  yet,  she  had  no  suspicion  whatever  of 
the  engagement  existing  between  Mr.  Hastings  and 
her  cousin.  There  was  nothing  in  the  manner  of 
either  to  betray  it,  and  when,  next  morning,  attired 
in  her  traveling  dress,  she  stood  with  them  upon 
the  piazza,  she  little  thought  how  and  where  she 
would  next  meet  them.  At  her  side  was  Stephen 
Grey.  He  had  been  won  over  by  her  gracious 
smiles  the  night  previous,  and  was  now  going  with 
her  as  far  as  Eochester,  where,  if  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity were  presented,  he  intended  offering  himself 
for  her  acceptance.  IJncle  Nat  was  not  present,  and 
Eugenia  was  glad  that  it  was  so,  for  there  was  some- 
thing about  him  exceedingly  annoying  to  her,  and 
she  always  felt  relieved  at  his  absence. 

"  Why  do  you  go  so  soon  ?  I  thought  you  were 
intending  to  spend  the  summer,"  said  one  of  her  old 
admirers  ;  and  with  a  scornful  toss  of  her  head,  she 
replied,  "It  is  getting  so  insufferably  dull  here, 
that  I  can't  endure  it  any  longer." 

Just  then  the  omnibus  Avas  announced,  and  with  a 
hurried  good-by,  she  followed  her  baggage  down 
the  stairs,  and  amid  a  cloud  of  dust  was  driven 
rapidly  away,  while  Uncle  Nat,  from  his  chamber 
window,  sent  after  her  a  not  very  complimentary  or 
affectionate  adieu.  Arrived  at  the  hotel  in  Roches- 
ter, where  Eugenia  had  once  waited  in  vain  for  Mr. 
Hastings,  Stephen  Grey  managed  to  hear  from  her 
again,  that  she  had  well  founded  hopes  of  being  one 
of  the  heirs  of  Nathaniel  Deane,  who,  she  said,  sent 
them  annually  a  sum  of  money  varying  from  five  to 
fifteen  hundred  dollars.  This  was  quite  a  con- 
sideration for  one  whose  finances  were  low,  and  whose 
father,  while  threatening  to  disinherit  him,  was  him- 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  167 

Belf  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  and  thinking  the  an- 
nual remittance  worth  securing,  even  if  the  m'ZZshould 
fail,  Stephen  found  an  opportunity  to  go  down  on 
his  knees  before  her  after  the  most  approved  fash- 
ion, telling  her  that  "  she  alone  could  make  him 
happy,  and  that  without  her  he  should  be  wretched  ; " 
and  she,  knowing  just  how  much  in  earnest  he  was, 
promised  to  be  his  wife,  intendingthe  while  to  break 
that  promise  if  she  saw  in  Mr.  Hastings  any  signs 
of  renewed  interest.  So  when  Stephen  pressed  her 
to  name  an  early  day,  she  put  him  off,  telling  him 
she  could  not  think  of  being  married  until  near  the 
middle  of  autumn,  and  at  the  same  time  requesting 
him  to  keep  their  engagement  a  secret,  for  she  did 
not  wish  it  to  be  a  subject  of  remark,  as  engaged 
people  always  were.  To  this,  Stephen  consented 
willingly,  as  he  would  thus  escape,  for  a  time,  his 
mother's  anger.  And  so  when,  tired,  jaded,  cross 
and  dusty,  Eugenia  Deane  reached  Locust  Grove, 
she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  her  trip'  to 
the  Springs  had  been  successful,  inasmuch  as  itprch 
cured  for  her  "  a  husband  such  as  he  was." 


CHAPTER   XXL 

THE  DOUBLE    SURPRISE. 

THE  Deanes  had  been  home  about  two  weeka 
when  Mr.  Hastings  returned  to  Rose  Hill,  accom- 
panied by  the  "  Old  South  American,"  who  seemed 
to  have  taken  up  his  abode  there.  Being  naturally 
rather  reserved,  the  latter  vjsited  but  little  in  tho 
village,  while  at  Locust  Grove  he  never  called,  and 
seldom  saw  Eugenia  when  he  met  her  in  the  street. 


1 68  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Mr.  Hastings,  too,  was  unusually  cool  in  his  man- 
ner towards  her,  and  this  she  imputed  wholly  to  the 
fact  of  her  having  been  rude  to  his  friend  on  the 
night  of  her  introduction.  "  He  was  never  so  be- 
fore,"  she  thought,  and  she  redoubled  her  efforts  to 
be  agreeable,  to  no  effect,  as  he  was  simply  polite  to 
her  and  nothing  more.  So  after  a  series  of  tears 
and  headaches,  she  gave  him  up,  comforting  her- 
self with  the  belief  that  he  would  never  marry  any« 
body.  After  this,  she  smiled  more  graciously  upon 
Stephen  Grey,  who,  pretending  to  be  a  lawyer,  had, 
greatly  to  her  annoyance,  hung  out  his  sign  in  Dun- 
wood,  where  his  office  proper  seemed  to  be  in  the 
bar-room,  or  drinking-saloon,  as  in  one  of  these  ho 
was  always  to  be  found,  when  not  at  Locust  Grove. 

One  evening,  towards  the  last  of  September,  when 
he  came  as  usual  to  see  her,  he  startled  her  with  the 
news,  that  there  was  ere  long  to  be  a  new  bride  at 
Eose  Hill  !  Starting  involuntarily,  Eugenia  ex- 
claimed, "A  new  bride  I  It  can't  be  possible  ! 
Who  is  it?" 

It  was  months  since  Stephen  had  been  in  New 
York,  and  he  knew  nothing,  except  that  the  lady 
was  from  the  city,  and  he  mentioned  a  Miss  Morton, 
with  whom  he  had  several  times  seen  Mr.  Hastings 
walking,  and  who  was  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Elliott. 
At  first  Eugenia  refused  to  believe  it,  but  when  she 
had  remembered  how  extensively  Mr.  Hastings  was 
repairing  his  place,  and  heard  that  the  house  was 
being  entirely  refurnished,  and  fitted  up  in  a  princely 
style,  she  wept  again  over  her  ruined  hopes,  and  ex- 
perienced  many  a  sharp  pang  of  envy,  when  from 
time  to  time  she  saw  go  by  loads  of  elegant  furniture, 
and  knew  that  it  was  not  for  herself,  but  another. 
The  old  South  American,  too,  it  was  said,  was  very 
lavish  of  his  money,  purchasing  many  costly  orna* 


THE  EAST  tyVJA.  VVf***  169 


ments,  And  /arnishing  ent-ifely  the  cfooOacr  of  the 
bride.  For  this  the  /air  Eugenia  styled  him  "a 
gilly  old  fool,5*  wondering  "  what  business  it  was  to 
him,"  and  "  why  he  need  be  so  much  interested  in 
one  who,  if  she  had  any  sense,  would,  in  less  than 
two  weeks,  turn  him  from  the  house,  with  his  heath- 
enish ways."  Still,  fret  as  she  would,  she  conldnot 
in  the  least  retard  the  progress  of  matters,  and  one 
morning  towards  the  last  of  October,  she  heard  from 
Mrs.  Leah,  whom  she  met  at  a  store  in  the  village, 
that  the  wedding  was  to  take  place  at  the  house  of 
the  bride  on  Tuesday  of  the  next  week,  and  that  on 
Thursday  evening  following,  there  was  to  be  a  grand 
party  at  Rose  Hill,  far  exceeding  in  splendor  and 
elegance  the  one  given  there  some  years  before. 

"  Crowds  of  folks,"  she  said,  "  are  coming  from 
the  city  with  the  bridal  pair,  who  would  start  on 
"Wednesday,  stay  in  Syracuse  all  night,  and  reach 
Dnnwood  about  three  o'clock  on  Thursday  afternoon. 
The  invitations  for  the  village  people,"  she  added, 
"were  already  written  and  were  left  with  her  to  dis- 
tribute on  Wednesday  morning." 

Eugenia  would  have  given  much  to  know  if  she 
were  invited,  but  she  was  too  proud  to  ask,  and  as- 
Burning  an  air  of  indifference  she  casually  inquired 
the  name  of  the  bride. 

With  the  manner  of  one  in  a  deep  study,  Mrs.  Leah 
replied,  "  Let  me  see  !    It's  a  very  common  name 
Strange  I  don't  speak  it  I  n 

"Morton?"  suggested  Eugenia,  but  Mrs.  Leah 
affected  not  to  hear  her,  and,  having  completed  her 
purchases,  she  left  the  store  and  walked  sloAvly  home- 
ward, dropping  more  than  one  tear  on  the  brown 
paper  parcel  she  held  in  her  hand. 

Crying,  however,  was  of  no  avail,  and  mentally 
chiding  herself  for  her  weakness,  the  resolved  to  brave 


I/O  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

it  through,  comforting  herself  again  with  the  thought 
that  tlie  Greys  were  as  aristocratic  as  the  Hastings, 
and  as  Stephen's  wife  she  should  yet  shine  in  the  best 
society,  for  in  case  she  married  him  she  was  resolved 
that  he  should  take  her  at  once  to  Philadelphia, 
where  she  would  compel  his  proud  mother  to  notice 
her.  This  helped  to  divert  her  mind,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  day  she  was  talking  gaily  of  the  party, 
&nd  wondering  if  she  should  be  as  intimate  with  tht 
second  Mrs.  Hastings  as  she  had  been  with  the  first ! 

That  night,  Alice  went  down  to  the  post-office, 
from  which  she  soon  returned,  evidently  much  ex- 
cited ;  and  rushing  into  the  room  where  her  mother 
and  sister  were  sitting,  she  said,  as  she  threw  a  letter 
into  the  lap  of  the  latter,  "  It's  from  Uncle  Nat,  and 
postmarked  New  York." 

Turning  whiter  than  ever  she  was  before,  Eugenia 
could  scarcely  command  herself  to  break  the  seal,  and 
read  the  few  brief  lines  which  told  her  that  Uncle 
Nat  had,  at  last,  concluded  to  come  home,  that  a 
matter  of  some  importance  would  keep  him  from 
Locust  Grove  for  a  few  days  ;  but  if  nothing  occurred, 
he  would  be  with  them  on  Saturday  evening  of  next 
week !  In  the  postscript,  he  added,  that  "  he 
should  expect  to  find  Dora  with  them,  and  he  hoped 
her  going  away  to  school  had  been  a  benefit  to  her." 

So  great  was  their  consternation  that  for  some 
minutes  neither  of  them  uttered  a  word,  but  each 
waited  for  the  other  to  suggest  some  way  of  acting 
in  the  present  emergency.  As  Eugenia's  mind  was 
the  most  active  of  the  three  she  was  the  first  to 
speak.  After  venting  her  indignation  upon  Uncle 
Nat,  for  intruding  himself  where  he  was  not  wanted, 
she  continued  :  "We  are  in  a  sad  dilemma,  but  we 
must  make  the  best  of  it,  and  inasmuch  as  he  is 
coming,  I  am  glad  that  Dora  is  what  she  is.  We 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  171 

can  tell  him  how  rapidly  she  has  improved,  and  how 
rejoiced  we  are  that  it  is  so.  I  am  glad  I  have  said 
nothing  about  her  for  the  last  two  years,  except  that 
she  was  away  at  school.  I'll  write  to  her  to-night, 
and  tell  her  to  meet  him  here,  and  come  immedi- 
ately. You  know,  she  is  good-natured,  and  on  my 
bended  knees  I'll  confess  what  I  have  done,  and  beg 
of  her  not  to  betray  me  to  him,  or  let  him  know  that 
we  did  not  pay  for  her  education,  and  if  she  refuses, 
you,  mother,  must  go  down  on  your  knees,  too,  and 
well  get  up  between  us  such  a  scene  that  she  will  con- 
sent, I  know — if  not,  why,  we  must  abide  the  con- 
sequence " — and  with  the  look  of  one  about  to  be 
martyred,  Eugenia  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Dora,  be- 
seeching her  to  "come  without  delay,  as  there  was 
something  they  must  tell  her  before  meeting  Uncle 
Nat!" 

This  was  Friday  night,  and  very  impatiently  she 
awaited  an  answer,  which,  though  written  on  Mon- 
day, did  not  come  until  the  Wednesday  following. 

"  What  does  she  say  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Deane  and 
Alice,  crowding  around  her,  while  with  a  rueful  face 
she  read  that  Dora  would  be  delighted  to  meet  Un- 
cle Nat  at  Locust  Grove,  but  could  not  come  quite  so 
soon  as  they  wished  to  have  her. 

"You  have  undoubtedly  heard,"  she  wrote,  "of 
Mr,  Hastings's  approaching  marriage,  at  which  I 
to  be  present.  Mrs.  Elliott  will  accompany  the 
bridal  party  to  Rose  Hill  on  Thursday,  and  she 
thinks  I  had  better  wait  and  come  with  her.  I  shall 
probably  see  you  at  the  party. 

"Yours  in  hasto, 

"  DORA  DEANE." 

On  Eugenia's  mind  'here  was  not  a  shadow  of  so* 


DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

picion  that  Dora  Deane,  appended  to  that  letter,  had 
ere  this  ceased  to  be  her  cousin's  name — that  Mr. 
Hastings,  who,  together  with  Uncle  Nat,  had  tha 
Saturday  previous  gone  down  to  New  York,  had 
bent  fondly  over  her  as  she  wrote  it  for  the  last 
time,  playfully  suggesting  that  she  add  to  it  an  Hy 
by  way  of  making  a  commencement,  nor  yet  that 
Uncle  Nat,  with  an  immense  degree  of  satisfaction 
in  his  face,  had  read  the  short  note,  saying  as  he  did 
so,  "  We'll  cheat  'em,  darling,  won't  we  ?  " 

Neither  did  she  dream  that  last  night's  moon  shone 
down  on  Dora  Deane,  a  beautiful,  blushing  bride, 
who,  with  orange  blossoms  in  her  shining  hair,  and 
the  deep  love-light  in  her  eye,  stood  by  Mr.  Hast- 
ings's  side  and  called  him  her  husband.  Nothing  of 
all  this  she  knew,  and  hastily  reading  the  letter,  sho 
exclaimed,  '*  Plague  on  her  !  a  vast  deal  of  differ- 
ence her  being  at  the  wedding  would  make.  But 
no  matter,  the  old  codger  will  not  be  here  until  Sat- 
urday night,  and  there'll  be  time  enough  to  coax 
her. 

Just  then  the  cards  of  invitation  were  left  at  the 
door,  and  in  the  delightful  certainty  of  knowing 
that  she  was  really  invited,  she  forgot  in  a  measure 
everything  else.  In  the  evening  she  was  annoyed  as 
usual  with  a  call  from  Stephen  Grey.  He  had  thai 
day  received  news  from  home  that  his  father's  failure 
could  not  long  be  deferred,  and  judging  Eugenia  by 
himself,  he  fancied  she  would  sooner  marry  him  now, 
than  after  he  was  the  son  of  a  bankrupt.  Accord- 
ingly he  urged  her  to  consent  to  a  private  marriage 
at  her  mother's  on  Friday  evening,  the  night  follow- 
ing the  party. 

"  There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  waiting,"  h« 
said — an  opinion  in  which  Eugenia  herself  concurred. 
(or  she  feared  lest  in  some  way  her  treachery  should 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  173 

b«  Strayed,  and  she  should  lose  Stephen  Grey,  as  well 
as  Mr.  Hastings. 

Still  she  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  consent  un- 
til she  had  seen  Dora,  and  she  replied  that  she  would 
think  of  it,  and  answer  him  at  the  party.  Thursday 
morning  came,  and  passed,  and  about  half-past  two, 
Eugenia  saw  Mr.  Hastiugs's  carriage  pass  on  its  way 
to  the  depot,  together  with  two  more,  which  had 
been  hired  to  convey  the  guests  to  Rose  Hill.  Seat- 
ing herself  by  her  chamber  window,  she  waited  im- 
patiently for  the  cars,  which  came  at  last,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  roll  of  wheels  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  the  bridal  party.  Very  eagerly  Eugenia, 
Alice,  and  their  mother  gazed  out  through  the  half 
closed  shutters  upon  the  carriage  in  front,  which 
they  knew  was  Mr.  Hastings's. 

"  There's  Mrs;  Elliott  looking  this  way.  Don't  let 
her  see  us,"  whispered  Alice,  while  her  mother  sin- 
gled out  old  Mrs.  Hastings  for  Dora,  wondering 
why  she  didn't  turn  that  way. 

But  Eugenia  had  no  eye  for  any  one,  save  the  figure 
seated  next  to  Mr.  Hastings,  and  so  closely  veiled  as 
entirely  to  hide  her  features. 

"  I  wouldn't  keep  that  old  brown  thing  on  my 
face,  unless  it  was  so  homely  I  was  afraid  of  having 
it  seen,"  she  said ;  and  hoping  the  bride  of  Howard 
Hastings  might  prove  to  be  exceedingly  ugly,  she 
repaired  to  Dora's  room,  and  from  the  same  window 
where  Dora  once  had  watched  the  many  lights  which 
shone  from  Rose  Hill,  she  now  watched  the  travelers 
until  they  disappeared  within  the  house.  Then,  re- 
joining  her  mother  and  sister  she  said,  "  I  don't  see 
why  Dora  can't  come  over  here  a  little  while  before 
the  party.  There's  plenty  of  time  and  I  do  want  to 
have  it  off  my  mind.  Besides  that,  I  might  coax 
her  to  assist  me  in  dressing,  for  she  hag  good  taste, 


174  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

if  nothing  more ;  I  mean  to  write  her  a  few  lines 
ftsking  her  to  come." 

The  note  was  accordingly  written,  and  despatched 
by  the  Irish  girl,  who  soon  returned,  bearing  another 
tiny  note,  which  read  as  follows  : 

"  I  cannot  possibly  come,  as  I  have  promised  to 
be  present  at  the  dressing  of  the  bride. 

"DORA." 

Forgetting  her  recent  remark,  Eugenia  muttered 
something  about,  "  folks  thinking  a  great  deal  of  her 
taste,"  then  turning  to  the  servant  girl,  she  asked 
"how  Dora  looked,  and  what  she  said  ?" 

"  Sure,  I   didn't  see   her,"  returned  the  girl ; 
Mistress  Leah  carried  your  letter  to  her,  and  brought 
hers  to  me.     Not  a  ha'p'orth  of  anybody  else  did  I 
see."    And  this  was  all  the  information  which  Eu- 
genia could  elicit  concerning  the  people  of  Rose  Hill. 

The  time  for  making  their  toilet  came  at  last,  and 
while  Eugenia  was  missing  the  little  cropped  head  girl, 
who,  on  a  similar  occasion,  had  obeyed  so  meekly  her 
commands,  a  fair  young  bride  was  thinking  also  of 
that  night,  when  she  had  lain  upon  her  mother's  old 

green  trunk,  and  wept  herself  to  sleep.  Wishing  to 
e  fashionable,  Eugenia  and  her  party  were  the  last 
to  arrive.  They  found  the  parlors  crowded,  and  the 
dressing-room  vacant,  so  that  neither  of  them  re- 
ceived the  slightest  intimation  of  the  surprise  which 
awaited  them.  In  removing  her  veil,  Eugenia  dis- 
placed one  of  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  muttering 
about  Alice's  awkwardness,  she  wished  she  could  see 
Dora  just  a  minute,  and  have  her  arrange  the 
flowers ! 

But  Dora  was  busy  elsewhere,  and  pronouncing 
herself  ready,  Eugenia,  took  the  arm  of  Stephen 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  1 75 

Grey,  and  followed  her  mother  and  sister  down- 
stairs. At  a  little  distance  from  the  door  was  Mr. 
Hastings,  and  at  his  side  was  Dora,  wondrously 
beautiful  in  her  costly  bridal  robes.  She  had  grace- 
fully received  the  congratulations  of  her  Dunwood 
friends,  who,  while  expressing  their  surprise,  had 
also  expressed  their  delight  at  finding  in  the  new 
mistress  of  Boss  Hill,  the  girl  who  had  ever  been  a 
favorite  in  the  village.  Near  her  was  Uncle  Nat,  hia 
face  wearing  an  expression  of  perfect  happiness,  and 
his^eye  almost  constantly  upon  the  door,  through 
which  Engenia  must  pass.  There  was  a  rustle  of 
silk  npou  the  stairs,  and  drawing  nearer  to  Dora,  he 
awaited  the  result  with  breathless  interest. 

Mrs.  Deane  came  first,  but  scarcely  had  she  crossed 
the  threshold,  ere  she  started  back,  petrified  with 
astonishment,  and  clutching  Alice's  dress,  whispered 
softly,  "  am  I  deceived,  or  is  it  Dora  ? 

And  Alice,  with  wild  staring  eyes,  could  only  an- 
swer  "Dora;"  while  Eugenia,  wondering  at  their 
conduct,  strove  to  push  them  aside.  Failing  in  this, 
she  raised  herself  on  tiptoe,  and  looking  over  their 
heads,  saw  what  for  an  instant  chilled  her  blood,  and 
stopped  the  pulsations  of  her  heart.  It  was  the  Irlde, 
and  fiercely  grasping  the  arm  of  Stephen  Grey  to 
keep  herself  from  falling,  she  said,  in  a  hoarse,  un- 
natural voice,  "  Great  Heaven — it  is  Dora !  DOHA 
DEANE !" 

Fruitful  as  she  had  hitherto  been  in  expedients, 
she  was  now  utterly  powerless  to  act,  and  knowing 
that  in  her  present  state  of  excitement,  she  could 
Aot  meet  her  cousin,  she  turned  back  and  fleeing  up 
the  stairs,  threw  herself  upon  a  chair  in  the  dressing. 
room,  where,  with  her  hands  clasped  firmly  together, 
she  sat  rigid  as  marble  until  the  storm  of  passion  had 
somewhat  abated. 


£>ORA  DEANE,  OR, 

"  And  she  has  won  him — Dora  Deane,  whom  1 
have  so  ill  treated,"  she  said  at  last,  starting  at  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  it  was  so  hollow  and  strange. 
Then,  as  she  remembered  the  coming  of  Uncle  Nat 
and  the  exposure  she  so  much  dreaded,  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
humiliation  cried  out,  "  It  is  more  than  1  can  bear!  n 

Growing  ere  long  more  calm,  she  thought  the 
matter  over  carefully,  and  decided  at  last  to  brave  it 
through — to  greet  the  bride  as  if  nothing  had  oc- 
curred, and  never  to  let  Mr.  Hustings  know  how  sharp 
a  wound  he  had  inflicted.  "  It  is  useless  now,"  she 
thought,  "  to  throw  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  Dora. 
She  would  not,  of  course,  withhold  my  secret  from 
her  husband,  and  I  cannot  be  despised  by  him.  I  have 
loved  him  too  well  for  that.  And  perhaps  he'll  never 
know  it,"  she  continued,  beginning  to  look  upon  the 
brighter  side.  "  Uncle  Nat  may  not  prove  very  in- 
quisitive— may  not  stay  with  us  long  ;  or  if  he  does, 
as  the  wife  of  Stephen  Grey,  I  can  bear  his  dis- 
pleasure better,"  and  determining  that  ere  another 
twenty-four  hours  were  gone,  she  would  cease  to  be 
Eugenia  Deane,  she  arose  and  stood  before  the  mirror, 
preparatory  to  going  down. 

The  sight  of  her  white  haggard  face  startled  her, 
and  for  a  moment  she  felt  that  she  could  not  mingle 
with  the  gay  throng  below,  who  would  wonder  at  her 
appearance/  But  the  ordeal  must  be  passed,  and 
summoning  all  her  courage,  she  descended  to  the 
parlor,  just  as  her  mother  and  Alice,  alarmed  at  her 
very  long  absence,  were  coming  in  quest  of  her. 
Crossing  the  room  mechanically  she  offered  her  hand 
to  Bora,  saying,  while  a  sickly  smile  played  around  her 
bloodless  lips,  "  You  have  really  taken  ns  by^  surprise, 
but  I  congratulate  you  ;  and  yon  too,"  bowing  rather 
•tifflj  to  Mr.  Hastings,  who  returned  her  greeting 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  177 

go  pleasantly,  that  she  began  to  feel  more  at  ease, 

and  after  a  little,  was  chatting  familiarly  with  Dora, 
telling  her  she  must  be  sure  and  meet,  "  Uncle  Nat," 
on  Saturday  evening,  and  adding  in  a  low  tone,  "  If 
Fve  ever  treated  you  badly,  I  hope  you  won't  tell 
him/'  "  I  shall  tell  him  nothing,  answered  Dora, 
and  comforted  with  this  answer,  Eugenia  moved 
away. 

*'  You  are  looking  very  pale  and  bad  to-night. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  U  ncle  Nat,  when  once 
he  was  standing  near  her. 

"  Nothing  but  a  bad  headache,"  she  replied,  while 
her  black  eyes  flashed  angrily  upon  him,  for  she 
fancied  he  saw  the  painful  throbbings  of  her  heart, 
and  wished  to  taunt  her  with  it. 

Supper  being  over,  Stephen  Grey  led  her  into  a 
little  side  room,  where  he  claimed  the  answer  to  his 
question.  It  was  in  the  affirmative,  and  soon  after, 
complaining  of  the  intense  pain  in  her  head,  she 
begged  to  go  home.  Alone  in  her  room,  with  no  one 
present  but  her  mother  and  Alice,  her  pent-up  feel- 
ings gave  away,  and  throwing  herself  upon  the  floor 
she  wished  that  she  had  died  ere  she  had  come  to 
this  humiliation. 

"  That  Dora,  a  beggar  as  it  were,  should  be  pre- 
ferred to  me  is  nothing,"  she  cried,  "  compared  to 
the  way  which  the  whole  thing  was  planned.  That 
old  wretch  of  a  Hamilton  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  I  know.  How  I  hate  him,  with  his  sneering 
facel" 

Becoming  at  length  a  little  more  composed,  sh<s 
told  her  mother  of  her  expected  marriage  with  Ste- 
phen Grey. 

"  Bat  why  so  much  haste  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Deane, 
who  a  little  proud  of  the  alliance,  would  rather  hart 
given  a  large  wedding* 
IS 


178  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Sitting  upright  upon  the  floor,  with  her  long  loose 
hair  falling  around  her  white  face,  Eugenia  answered 
bitterly,  "  Stephen  Grey  has  no  more  love  for  me 
than  I  have  for  him.  He  believes  that  we  are  rich, 
or  we  will  be  when  Uncle  Nat  is  dead.  For  money 
he  marries  me,  for  money  I  marry  him.  I  know  old 
Grey  is  wealthy,  and  as  the  wife  of  his  son,  I  will 
yet  ride  over  Dora's  head.  But  I  must  be  quick,  or 
I  lose  him,  for  if  after  Uncle  Nat's  arrival  our  real 
situation  should  chance  to  be  disclosed,  Steve  would 
not  hesitate  to  leave  me. 

*  So  to-morrow  or  never  a  bride  I  shall  be,' " 

Bhe  sang  with  a  gaiety  of  manner  wholly  at  variance 
with  the  worn,  suffering  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance. Eugenia  was  terribly  expiating  her  sins,  and 
when  the  next  night,  in  the  presence  of  a  few 
friends,  she  stood  by  Stephen  Grey,  and  was  made 
his  wife,  she  felt  that  her  own  hands  had  poured  the 
last  drop  in  the  brimming  bucket,  for,  as  she  had 
said,  there  was  not  in  her  heart  a  particle  of  esteem 
or  love  for  him  who  was  now  her  husband. 

" It's  my  destiny,"  she  thought;  "I'll  make  the 
best  of  it,  and  her  unnatural  laugh  rang  out  loud 
and  clear,  as  she  tried  to  appear  gay  and  happy. 

Striking  contrast  between  the  gentle  bride  at  Eose 
Hill,  who  felt  that  in  all  the  world,  there  was  not  a 
happier  being  than  herself — and  the  one  at  Locust 
Grove,  who  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  livid  lips  gazed 
out  upon  the  starry  sky,  almost  cursing  the  day  that 
ehe  was  born,  and  the  fate  which  had  made  her  what 
ehe  was.  Ever  and  anon,  too,  there  came  stealing  on 
her  ear  the  fearful  word  retribution*  and  the  wretched 
girl  shuddered  as  she  thought  for  how  much  she  had 
to  atone. 

Marveling  much  at  the  strange  mood  of  his  bride, 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  179 

Stephen  Grey,  on  the  morning  succeeding  his  mar- 
riage, left  her  and  went  down  to  the  village,  where 
he  found  a  letter  from  his  father,  telling  him  the 
crisis  had  come,  leaving  him  more  than  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  debt  !  Stephen  was  not  sur- 
prised— he  had  expected  it,  and  it  affected  him  less 
painfully  when  he  considered  that  his  wife  would 
inherit  a  portion  of  Uncle  Nathaniel's  wealth. 

"I  won't  tell  her  yet/'  he  thought,  as  he  walked 
back  to  Locust  Grove,  where,  with  an  undefined  pre- 
sentiment  of  approaching  evil,  Eugenia  moved  list* 
lessly  from  room  to  room,  counting  the  hours  which 
dragged  heavily,  and  half  wishing  that  Uncle  Nat 
would  hasten  his  coming,  and  have  it  over  1 


The  sun  went  down,  and  as  darkness  settled  o'er 
the  earth,  a  heavy  load  seemed  pressing  upon  Euge- 
nia's spirits.  It  wanted  now  but  a  few  minutes  of 
the  time  when  the  train  was  due,  and  trembling,  she 
scarcely  knew  why,  she  sat  alone  in  her  chamber, 
wondering  how  she  should  meet  her  uncle,  or  what 
excuse  she  should  render,  if  her  perfidy  were  revealed. 
The  door  bell  rang,  and  in  the  hall  below  she  heard 
the  voices  of  Mr.  Hastings  and  Dora. 

"  I  must  go  down,  now,"  she  said,  and  forcing  a 
smile  to  her  face,  she  descended  to  the  parlor,  as  the 
shrill  whistle  of  the  engine  sounded  in  the  distance. 

She  had  just  time  to  greet  her  visitors  and  enjoy 
their  surprise  at  the  announcement  of  her  marriage, 
when  her  ear  caught  the  sound  of  heavy,  tramping 
footsteps,  coming  up  the  walk,  and  a  violent  ringing 
of  the  bell  announced  another  arrival. 

"  You  go  to  the  door,  Stephen,"  she  whispered, 
while  an  icy  coldness  crept  over  her. 

He  obeyed,  and  bending  forward  in  a  listening 


ISO  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

attitude  she  heard  him  say,    "Good  evening,  Mr. 

Hamilton." 

Just  then,  a  telegraphic  look  between  Mr.  Hastings 
and  Dora  caught  her  eye,  and  springing  to  her  feet, 
she  exclaimed,  "Mr.  Hamilton!"  while  a  suspicion 
of  the  truth  flashed  like  lightning  upon  her.  The 
next  moment  he  stood  before  them,  Uncle  Nat,  his 
glittering  black  eyes  fixed  upon  Eugenia,  who  quailed 
beneath  that  withering  glance. 

"  I  promised  you  I  would  come  to-night"  he  said, 
"  and  lam  here,  Nathaniel  Deane  I  Are  you  glad  to 
see  me?"  and  his  eyes  never  moved  from  Eugenia, 
who  sat  like  one  petrified,  as  did  her  mother  and  sis- 
ter. "Have  you  no  word  of  welcome?"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Your  letters  were  wont  to  be  kind  and 
affectionate.  I  have  brought  them  with  me,  as  a 
passport  to  you  friendship.  Shall  I  show  them  to 
you?" 

His  manner  was  perfectly  cool  and  collected,  Out 
Eugenia  felt  the  sting  each1  word  implied,  and,  start- 
ing up,  she  glared  defiantly  at  him,  exclaiming, 
"  Insolent  wretch  1  What  mean  you  by  this  ?  And 
what  business  had  you  thus  to  deceive  us  ?" 

"  The  fair  Eugenia  does  not  believe  in  deceit,  it 
seems.  Pity  her  theory  and  practise  do  not  better 
accord,"  he  answered,  while  a  scornful  smile  curled 
his  lips. 

"  What  proof  have  you,  sir,  for  what  you  say  ?" 
demanded  Eugenia  ;  and  with  the  same  cold,  scorn- 
ful smile,  he  replied,  "  Far  better  proof  than  you 
imagine,  fair  lady.  Would  you  like  to  hear  it  ? 

Not  suspecting  how  much  he  knew,  and  goaded  to 
madness  by  his  calm,  quiet  manner,  Eugenia  re- 
plied, "  I  defy  you,  old  man,  to  prove  aught  against 
me." 

"  First,  then,"  said  he,  "  let  me  ask  you  what  use 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  l8l 

yon  made  of  that  fifteen  hundred  dollars  sent  to  Bora 
nearly  three  years  ago  ?  Was  not  this  piano,"  lay- 
ing his  hand  npon  the  instrument,  "  bought  with  a 
part  of  that  money  ?  Did  Dora  ever  see  it,  or  the 
five  hundred  dollars  sent  annually  by  me  ?w 

Eugenia  was  confounded.  He  did  know  it  all,  but 
how  had  she  been  betrayed  ?  It  must  be  through 
Dora's  agency,  she  thought,  and  turning  fiercely  to- 
wards her,  she  heaped  upon  her  such  a  torrent  of 
abuse,  that,  in  thunder-like  tones,  Uncle  Nat,  now 
really  excited,  bade  her  keep  silent  ;  while  Howard 
Hastings  arose,  and  confronting  the  angry  woman, 
explained  briefly  what  he  had  done,  and  why  he  had 
done  it. 

"  Then  you,  too,  have  acted  a  traitor's  part  ?"  she 
hissed  ;  "  but  it  shall  not  avail,  I  will  not  be  tram- 
pled down  by  either  you,  or  this  gray-haired " 

"  Hold  ! "  cried  Uncle  Nat,  laying  his  broad  palm 
heavily  upon  her  shoulder.  "  I  am  too  old  to  hear 
such  language  from  you,  young  lady.  I  do  not  wish 
to  upbraid  you  farther  with  what  you  have  done. 
Tis  sufficient  that  I  know  it  all,  that  henceforth  we 
are  strangers  ; "  and  he  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
when  Mrs.  Deane,  advancing  towards  him  said  plead- 
ingly, "  Is  it  thus,  Nathaniel,  that  you  return  to 
us,  after  so  many  years  ?  Eugenia  may  have  been 
tempted  to  do  wrong,  but  will  you  not  forgive  her  for 
her  father's  sake  ?  " 

"  Never!"  he  answered  fiercely,  shaking  oft*  the 
hand  she  had  lain  upon  his  arm.  "  Towards  Alice  I 
bear  no  ill  will  ;  and  you,  madam,  who  suffered  this 
wrong  to  be  done,  I  may,  in  time,  forgive,  but  thai 
woman"  pointing  towards  Eugenia,  "Never/" 
And  he  left  the  room,  while  Eugenia,  completely 
overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  her  detected  guilt,  burst 
into  a  passionate  fit  of  tears,  gobbing  so  bitterly  that 


1 82  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

Dora,  touched  by  her  grief,  stole  softly  to  her  side, 
and  was  about  to  speak,  when,  thrusting  her  away, 
Eugenia  exclaimed,  "  Leave  me,  Dora  Deane,  and 
never  come  here  again.  The  sight  of  you  mocking 
my  wretchedness  is  hateful  and  more  than  I  can 
bear ! " 

There  were  tears  in  Dora's  eyes,  as  she  turned  away, 
and  offering  her  hand  to  her  aunt  and  cousin,  she 
took  her  husband's  arm,  and  went  out  of  a  house, 
where  she  had  suffered  so  much,  and  which,  while 
Eugenia  remained,  she  would  never  enter  again. 

Like  one  in  a  dream  sat  Stephen  Grey.  He  had 
been  a  silent  spectator  of  the  exciting  scene,  but 
thought  had  been  busy,  and  ere  it  was  half  over,  his 
own  position  was  clearly  defined,  and  he  knew  that, 
even  as  he  had  cheated  Eugenia  Deane,  so  Eugenia 
Deane  had  cheated  him.  It  was  an  even  thing,  and 
unprincipled  and  selfish  as  he  was,  he  felt  that  he 
had  no  cause  for  complaint.  Still  the  disappoint- 
ment was  not  the  less  severe,  and  when  the  bride  of 
a  day,  looking  reproachfully  at  him  through  her 
tears,  asked,  "why  he  didn't  say  to  her  a  word  of 
comfort  ?"  he  coolly  replied,  "because  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say.  You  have  got  yourself  into  a  deuced 
mean  scrape,  and  so  have  I ! " 

Eugenia  did  not  then  understand  what  he  meant, 
and,  when,  an  hour  or  two  later,  she  dried  her  tears, 
and  began  to  speak  of  an  immediate  removal  to  Phil- 
adelphia, where  she  would  be  more  effectually  out  of 
Uncle  Nat's  way,  she  was  surprised  at  his  asking 
her,  "  what  she  proposed  doing  in  the  city,  and  if 
she  had  any  means  of  support." 

"Means  of  support  1"  she  repeated.  "Why  do 
yon  ask  that  question,  when  your  father  is  worth  half 
a  million,  and  you  are  his  only  son  ?" 

With  a  prolonged  whistle,  he  answered.    "Father 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLE.  183 

worth  a  copper  cent  and  I  a  precious  fool  cornea 
nearer  the  truth  ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  in  unfeigned 
astonishment  ;  and  he  replied,  "  I  mean  that  three 
days  ago  father  failed,  to  the  tune  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  and  if  you  or  I  have  any  bread  to 
eat  hereafter,  one  or  the  other  of  us  must  earn  it  I" 

Eugenia  had  borne  'much  to-day,  and  this  last 
announcement  was  the  one  s^raw  too  many.  Utterly 
crushed,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  re- 
mained silent.  She  could  not  reproach  her  hus 
band,  for  the  deception  had  been  equal,  and  now> 
when  this  last  hope  had  been  swept  away,  the  world 
indeed  seemed  dreary  and  dark. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  she  groaned  at  last,  in  a 
voice  so  full  of  despair,  that  with  a  feeling  akin  to 
pity,  Stephen,  who  had  been  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  came  to  her  side,  saying,  "  Why  can't  we 
stay  as  we  are  ?  I  can  average  a  pettyfogging  suit 
a  month,  and  that'll  be  better  than  nothing." 

"  I  wouldn't  remain  here  on  any  account  after 
what  has  happened,"  said  Eugenia  ;  "  and  besides 
that,  we  couldn't  stay,  if  we  would,  for  now  that 
Uncle  Nat's  remittance  is  withdrawn,  mother  haa 
nothing  in  the  world  to  live  on." 

"  Couldn't  you  take  in  sewing"  suggested  Ste 
phen,  "  or  washing,  or  mopping  ?  " 

To  the  sewing  and  the  washing  Eugenia  was  too 
indignant  to  reply,  but  when  it  came  to  the  mopping, 
she  lifted  up  her  hands  in  astonishment,  calling  him 
"  a  fool  and  a  simpleton." 

"  Hang  me,  if  I  know  anything  about  woman's 
work,"  said  Stephen,  resuming  his  walk,  and  wonder- 
ing why  the  taking  in  of  mopping  should  be  more 
difficult  than  anything  else.  "  I  have  it,"  he  said 
at  length,  running  his  fingers  orer  the  keys  of  the 


1 84  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

piano.  "  Can't  yon  teach  music  ?  The  piano  got 
you  into  a  fix,  and  if  I  were  you,  Fd  make  it  help  me 
out." 

"  I'll  use  it  for  kindling-wood  first,"  was  her  an- 
swer, and  Stephen  resumed  his  cogitations,  which 
resulted  finally  in  his  telling  her,  that  on  the  prairies 
of  Illinois  there  were  a  few  acres  of  land,  of  which 
he  was  the  rightful  owier.  There  was  a  house  on  it, 
too,  he  said,  though  in  what  condition  he  did  not 
<mow,  and  if  they  only  had  a  little  money  with  which 
to  start,  it  would  he  best  for  them  to  go  out  there  at 
once.  This  plan  struck  Eugenia  more  favorably 
than  any  which  he  had  proposed. 

Humbled  as  she  was,  she  felt  that  the  further  she 
were  from  Dunwood,  the  happier  she  would  be,  and 
after  a  consultation  with  Mrs.  Deane,  it  was  de- 
cided that  the  beautiful  rosewood  piano  should  be 
sold,  and  that  with  the  proceeds,  Stephen  and 
Eugenia  should  bury  themselves  for  a  time  at  the 
West.  Two  weeks  more  found  them  on  their  way  to 
their  distant  home,  and  when  that  winter,  Dora 
Hastings,  at  Rose  Hill,  pushed  aside  the  heavy 
damask  which  shaded  her  pleasant  window,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  snow-covered  lawn  aiid  spacious 
garden  beyond,  Eugenia  Grey,  in  her  humble  cabin, 
looked  through  her  paper-curtained  window  upon 
the  snow-clad  prairie,  which  stretched  away  as  far 
as  eye  could  reach,  and  shed  many  bitter  tears,  aa 
she  heard  the  wind  go  wailing  past  her  door,  and 
thought  of  her  home  far  to  the  east,  towards  tin 
rising  sun. 


THE  EAST  INDIA  ITNCLB.  S&§ 

OHAPTEBXXI1. 
cosrcLTTsioir. 

THREE  years  have  passed  away,  and  twice  the 
irintry  storms  have  swept  over  the  two  graves,  which, 
en  the  prairies  of  Illinois,  were  made  when  the  glori- 
ous Indian  summer  sun  was  shining  o'er  the  earth, 
and  the  withered  leaves  of  autumn  were  strewn  upon 
the  ground.  Stephen  and  Eugenia  are  dead—he, 
dying  as  a  drunkard  dies — she,  as  a  drunkard's  wife. 
Uncle  Nat  had  been  to  visit  the  western  world,  and 
on  his  return  to  Rose  Hill,  there  was  a  softened  light 
in  his  eye,  and  a  sadness  in  the  tones  of  his  voice, 
as,  drawing  D^ra  to  his  aide,  he  whispered,  "  I  have 
forgiven  her — forgiven  Engenia  Deane." 

Then  he  told  her  how  an  old  man  in  his  wander- 
ings came  one  day  to  a  lonely  cabin,  where  a  wild- 
eyed  woman  was  raving  in  delirium,  and  tearing  out 
handfuls  of  the  long  black  hair  which  floated  over 
her  shoulders.  This  she  was  counting  one  by  one, 
just  as  the  old  East  India  man  had  counted  the  silken 
tress  which  was  sent  to  him  over  the  sea,  and  she 
laughed  with  maniacal  glee  as  she  said  the  number- 
ing  of  all  her  hairs  would  atone  for  the  sin  ehe  had 
done.  At  intervals,  too,  rocking  to  and  fro,  she  sang 
of  the  fearful  night  when  she  had  thought  to  steal 
the  auburn  locks  concealed  within  the  old  green 
trunk  ;  on  which  the  darkness  lay  so  heavy  and  BO 
black,  that  she  had  turned  away  in  terror,  and  glided 
from  the  room.  In  the  old  man's  heart  there  wa» 
much  of  bitterness  towards  that  erring  woman  for 
the  wrong  she  had  done  to  him  and  his,  but  when  he 
found  her  thus,  when  he  looked  on  the  new-mad* 


1 86  DORA  DEANE,  OR, 

grave  beneath  the  buckeye  tree,  and  felt  that  sh* 
was  dying  of  starvation  and  neglect,  when  he  saw  f 
how  the  autumn  rains,  dripping  from  a  crevice  in 
the  roof,  had  drenched  her  scanty  pillows  through 
and  through — when  he  sought  in  the  empty  cupboard 
for  food  or  drink  in  vain,  his  heart  softened  towards 
her,  and  for  many  weary  days  he  watched  her  with 
the  tenderest  care,  administering  to  all  her  wants, 
and  soothing  her  in  her  frenzied  moods,  as  he  would 
a  little  child,  and  when  at  last,  a  ray  of  reason  shone 
for  a  moment  on  her  darkened  mind,  and  she  told 
him  how  much  she  had  suffered  from  the  hands  of 
one  who  now  slept  just  without  the  door,  and  asked 
him  to  forgive  her  ere  she  died,  he  laid  upon  his 
bosom  her  aching  head,  from  which  in  places  the 
long  hair  had  been  torn,  leaving  it  spotted  and  bald, 
and  bending  gently  over  her,  he  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"  As  freely  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  of  Heaven,  so 
freely  forgive  I  you.  '* 

With  a  look  of  deep  gratitude,  the  dark  eyea 
glanced  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  closed  forever, 
and  he  was  alone  with  the  dead. 

Some  women,  whose  homes  were  distant  two  or 
three  miles,  had  occasionally  shared  his  vigils,  and 
from  many  a  log  cabin  the  people  gathered  them- 
selves together,  and  made  for  the  departed  a  grave, 
and  when  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  and  not 
a  cloud  dimmed  the  canopy  of  blue,  they  buried  her 
beside  her  husband,  where  the  prairie  flowers  and  the 
tall  rank  grass  would  wave  above  her  head. 

This  was  the  story  he  told,  and  Dora  listening  to  it, 
wept  bitterly  over  the  ill-fated  Eugenia,  whose  mother 
and  sister  never  knew  exactly  how  she  died,  for 
Uncle  Nathaniel  would  not  tell  them,  but  from  the 
time  of  his  return  from  the  West  his  manner  towards 
them  was  changed,  and  when  the  New  Year  cam* 


THE  EAST  INDIA  UNCLB.  187 

round,  one  hundred  golden  guineas  found  entrance 

»t  their  door,  accompanied  with  a  promise  that  when 

the  day  returned  again,  the  gift  should  be  repeated. 

***** 

On  the  yine-wreathed  pillars,  and  winding  walki 
of  Eose  Hill,  the  softened  light  of  the  setting  sun  is 
ghining.  April  showers  have  wakened  to  life  the  fair 
spring  blossoms,  whose  delicate  perfume,  mingling 
with  the  evening  air,  steals  through  the  open  case- 
ment, and  kisses  the  bright  face  of  Dora,  beautiful 
new  as  when  she  first  called  him  her  husband  who 
sits  beside  her,  and  who  each  day  blesses  her  as  hia 
choicest  treasure. 

On  the  balcony  without,  in  a  large-armed  willow 
chair,  is  seated  an  old  man,  and  as  the  fading  sunlight 
falls  around  him,  a  bright-haired  little  girl,  not  vet 
two  years  of  age,  climbs  upon  his  knee,  and  winding 
her  chubby  arms  around  his  neck  lisps  the  name  of 
*'  Grandpa,"  and  the  old  man,  folding  her  to  his 
bosom,  sings  to  her  softly  and  low  of  another  Fannie, 
whose  eyes  of  blue  were  much  like  those  which  look 
BO  lo-^ngly  into  his  face.  Anon  darkness  steals  over 
all  but  the  new  moon,  "  hanging  like  a  silver  thread 
in  the  western  sky,"  shows  us  where  Howard  Hastings 
is  sitting,  still  with  Dora  at  his  side. 

On  the  balcony,  all  is  silent ;  the  tremulous  voice 
has  ceased  ;  the  blue-eyed  child  no  longer  listens ; 
old  age  and  infancy  sleep  sweetly  now  together ;  thi 
•ong  is  ended ;  the  story  is  done. 


THl 


Reasons  why 


you  should 
obtain  a  Cat- 


alogue of  our 
Publications 


A  postal 'to  us  will 

place  it  in  your 

hands 


1 .  You  will  possess  a  comprehen- 
sive and  classified  list  of  all  the  best 
standard  books  published,  at  prices 
less  than  offered  by  others, 

2.  You  will  find  listed  in  our  cata- 
logue books  on  every  topic  :     Poetry, 
Fiction,   Romance,  Travel,   Adven- 
ture, Humor,  Science,  History,  Re- 
ligion, Biography,  Drama,  etc.,  be- 
sides   Dictionaries    and     Manuals, 
Bibles,  Recitation  and  Hand  Books, 
Sets,    Octavos,  Presentation    Books 
and  Juvenile  and  Nursery  Literature 
in  immense  variety. 

3.  You  will  be  able  to  purchase 
books  at  prices  within  your  reach ; 
as  low  as  10  cents  for  paper  covered 
books,  to  $5.00  for  books  bound  in 
cloth  or  leather,  adaptable  for  gift 
and   presentation  purposes,  to  suit 
the  tastes  of  the  most  critical. 

4.  You    will    save   considerable 
money  by  taking  advantage  of  our 
SPECIAL  DISCOUNTS,  which  we  offer 
to  those  whose  purchases  are  large 
enough  to  warrant  us  in  making  a 
reduction. 


The  famous  Algcr  Books 


By  Horatio  Algcr,  Jr. 


The  Boy's  Writer 


A  SERIES  of  books  known  to  all  boys;  books  that  are  good 
and  wholesome,  with  enough  "ginger"  in  them  to  suit 
the  tastes  of  the  younger  generation.     The  Alger  books 
are  not  filled  with  "blood  and  thunder"  stories  of  a  doubtful 
character,  but  are  healthy  anil  elevating,  and  parents  should 
see  to  it  that  their  children  become  acquainted  with  the  writ- 
ings of  this  celebrated  writer  of  boys'  books.    We  publish  the 
titles  named  below: 


Adrift  in  New  York. 

A  Cousin's  Conspiracy. 

Andy  Gordon. 

Andy  Grant's  Pluck. 

Bob  Burton. 

Bound  to  Rise. 

Brave  and  Bold. 

Cash  Boy. 

Chester  Rand. 

Do  and  Dare. 

Driven  from  Home. 

Erie  Train  Boy. 

Facing  the  World. 

Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Frank's  Campaign. 

Grit. 

Hector's  Inheritance. 

Helping  Himself. 

Herbert  Carter's  Legacy. 

In  a  New  World. 

Jack's  Ward, 

Jed, the  Poor  House  Boy. 

Joe's  Luck. 

Julius,  the  Street  Boy. 

Luke  Walton. 


Making  His  Way. 
Mark  Mason. 
Only  an  Irish  Bay. 
Paul,  the  Peddler. 
Phil,  the  Fiddler. 
Ralph  Raymond's  Heir. 
Risen  from  the  Ranks. 
Sam's  Chance, 
Shifting  for  Himself. 
Sink  or  Swim. 
Slow  and  Sure. 
Store  Boy. 
Strive  and  Suceeed. 
Strong  and  Steady. 
Struggling  Upward. 
Tin  Box. 

Tom,  the  Bootblack. 
Tony,  the  Tramp. 
Try  and  Trust. 
Wait  and  Hope. 
Walter  Sherwood's  Pro- 
bation. 

Young  Acrobat. 
Young  Adventurer. 
Young  Outlaw. 
Young  Salesman. 


Any  of  these  books  will  be  mailed  upon  receipt  of  50  cents. 
Do  not  fail  to  procure  one  or  more  of  these  noted  volumes. 

A   Complete     Catalogue    of  Books 
Be    Sent    Vpou    Request. 


HURST  &  CO.,     Publishers,     NEW  YORK. 


of 


THIS  popular  novel  writer 
has    written    a    large 
number    of    successful 
books  that  have  been  widely 
circulated  and  are  constantly 
in  demand.    We  issue  twenty 
of  them  as  below  : 

Aikenside, 

Bad  Hugh, 

Cousin  Maude, 

Darkness  and  Daylight, 

Dora  Deane, 

Edith  Lyle's  Secret, 

English  Orphans, 

Ethelyn's  Mistake, 

Family  Pride, 

Homestead  on  the  HiRside, 

Leighton  Homestead, 

Lena  Rivers, 

Maggie  Miller, 

Marian  Grey, 

Mildred, 

Millbank, 

Miss  McDonald 

Rector  of  St.  Marks, 

Rose  Mather, 

Tempest  and  Sunshine. 

Any  of  these  books  will  be 
supplied,  postpaid,  in  cloth 
binding,  at  300.  In  paper 
binding,  150. 

Obtain  onr  latest  complete 
catalogue. 


HURST  &  CO., 

395-399  Broadway,  New  Yoek. 


A  BOOK  OF  THE  HOUR 

The  Simple  Life 

By  CHARLES  WAGNER 

Translated  from  the  French  by  H.  L.  WILLIAMS 

The  sale  of  this  book  has  been  magnetic  and 
its  effect  far-reaching.  It  has  the  endorsement 
of  public  men,  literary  critics  and  the  press 
generally. 

This  is  the  book  that  President  Roosevelt 
preaches  to  his  countrymen. 

The  price  is  made  low  enough  to  be  within 
the  reach  of  all.  Don't  fail  to  purchase  a  copy 
yourself  and  recommend  it  to  your  friends. 

Cloth  binding,   i2mo.     Price,  postpaid,  500. 

Get  Our  latest  Catalogue— Free  Upon  Bequest. 

HURST   &    CO.,    Publishers,    NEW   YORK 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


1158  01132  9157 


°.S  P.U.TH.!R1?.?.GIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


